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THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


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The 

Senator’s Sweetheart 

By ROSSETER WILLARD 

With an Introduction by 
MRS. CUSHMAN K. DAVIS 

Illustrated by FELIX MAHONEY 


“ He’ll hae misfortunes great and sma’, 
But aye a heart aboon them a’; 

He’ll be a credit till us a’, 

We’ll a’ be proud o’ Robin.** 



THE GRAFTON PRESS 
NEW YORK 



THt library of 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

jUL 13 1903 

Copy light t-ntry 
r^U-y / C| 0 5 

CLAS^ ^ XXc. Np. 
b 2' 0 
COPY B. 


Copyright 1903 
by 

The Grafton Press 


Copyright secured in Great Britain 


First Impression April, 1903 


TO 


LOUISE 

My Precious Sister 

With the Artistic Soul 
Great Heart and 
Indomitable Courage 



INTRODUCTION. 


T he social world of Washington is like those 
magic hoops that are deftly used by conjur- 
ers. Circles pass, one into the other, as easily 
as if they were rings of smoke. They hnk themselves 
into a chain, or for a moment they seem almost to be 
one ; yet they never mingle — ^they dissolve away even 
as the smoke-rings vanish. 

The society circles of the Capital touch, or there 
is, perhaps, a bowing acquaintance across the boun- 
dary; yet, after all, these coteries are but the fringe 
of that exclusive set known only to the few. 

Some of the characters in this book may be recog- 
nized by the readers, for they are living, or have 
lived, they being well known to the author, who has 
delineated so truly that certainly some passages might 
better have been omitted and others added with 
advantage. 

Perhaps the most interesting feature of the volume 
is the portrayal of those types of American women 
who, wherever they may be, have ever, as they must 
ever, wielded the sceptre with a queenly hand. 

Anna Agnew Davis. 


April, 1903. 


TO MY SWEETHEART. 


For months along the road way of my life 

I passed a lily which bent down its head 

As if the careless^ wanton passer shy 

Each sought to smirch its beauteous leaves with dust. 

One day the lily lifted up its heady 

And bent towards me with appealing grace. 

And flashed upon my sight its heart of gold 
And breathed a perfume sweet as music's dream. 

I, worn with care and stained by many faults. 

Feeling unfit to touch a thing so pure, 

Passed longing by, and then the lily drooped 
And hid its heart of gold, like eyes in prayer. 

Again the lily lifted up its head 

And bent towards me with a loving grace, 

And flashed upon my sight its heart of gold, 
Breathing a perfume as sweet as music's dream. 

So, taking heart, not from my own deserts^ 

But from my hopes, fast ripening to love, 

I plucked the blossom from its lonely place 
And placed it in my breast, and went my way. 

And then I reaped exceeding great reward. 

For soon the lily rooted in my heart. 

Took strength to be more lovely than before. 

And charmed away my many stains of faults. 

And there it grows and will forever grow. 

Part of my life, dearer than Life itself. 

The lily grows fast rooted in my heart. 

It fills my life with all its rich perfume. 

While I, the sport of every evil thought. 

Oft' crush its leaves into its heart of gold. 

Then from its heart its perfume comes the more 
In sweet forgiveness of each cruel word; 

Oh, God! why do I sin against myself. 

And break the casket where my life lies stored? 

CUSHMAX. 


CHAPTER I. 


“Fate has blest me with a friend 
In every care and ill; 

And oft a more endearing band, 

A tie more tender stilL” 

T he lofty, beautiful rooms of a big house in 
K Street, Washington, D. C., were aglow 
with light and color. The richness of silken 
hangings and velvet rugs was enhanced by flowers and 
palms. The rooms were rapidly filling with guests, 
the elite of the Capital. In the wide hall, welcom- 
ing her friends and acquaintances, stood the fair 
hostess, the wife of the great Senator. She knew 
the names as well as the faces of most of her guests — 
in fact there was scarcely one in Washington 
having any claim to be anybody whom she did not 
know. 

Those who knew her best declared that never, dur- 
ing the thirteen years that she had been queen of her 
Washington home, had Mrs. Cushman appeared hap- 
pier or more radiant than on this occasion, her last 
entertainment of a season which had been both long 
and gay. 

Among the early arrivals were several ladies, all 
strangers. As she was not personally acquainted 
with them, the Senator’s wife noticed them the more 
particularly. One of the group awakened the in- 
terest of the hostess all the more by her intelligent 
face and the charming ease and grace of her manner. 
As she approached the tall, dark, gracious woman. 


8 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


whom she instinctively knew to be the wife of the 
Senator, the newcomer asked tentatively, in a sweet, 
well-modulated voice: 

“Mrs. Cushman, I believe?” 

As she held out her hand the hostess answered smil- 
ingly: 

“I am Mrs. Cushman, and it always gives me hap- 
piness to say so. And you are Mrs. ?” 

“I am Mrs. Alton. ^ I am so much obliged to you 
for the cards which you sent in answer to my note. 
It was very good of you to reply so quickly, al- 
though it was only in keeping with your reputation. 
May I present my friends, Mrs. Cushman?” 

While these polite commonplaces were being ex- 
changed the two women studied each other’s face 
keenly. Apparently the inspection was satisfactory to 
both. We say “apparently,” because nothing can be 
more misleading than the expression on the face of a 
society woman. It is often put there for the pur- 
pose of being read. To observers it seemed that the 
women were satisfied with each other. The women 
themselves knew that they were. The meeting was the 
beginning of a friendship that was precious to them 
and lasting. 

The evening’s entertainment was of a high order, 
having been planned for the enjoyment of the clev- 
erest men and most brilliant women in American soci- 
ety. The supper which followed was worthy of the 
traditions of the house. During the evening it be- 
came evident that Mrs. Cushman and Mrs. Alton were 
mutually attracted by each other. When the lat- 
ter took leave the Senator’s wife said : 




THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 9 


“I am at home on Thursday afternoons. I do 
hope you’ll come to see me.” 

The sincerity of her voice was reflected in that of 
Mrs. Alton, who replied formally, but with evi- 
dent pleasure: 

“I shall be very glad to come. Thank you ever so 
much.” 

It was not a case of like attracting like, for the 
two women were in everything different. Neverthe- 
less the mutual admiration grew into sincere affection. 
The Senator, too, seemed delighted with his wife’s 
new friend; and (what was very strange in him) 
actually showed some interest in and curiosity about 
her. Visits between the two women became more and 
more frequent. The Senator and Mrs. Alton occa- 
sionally met, and, little by little, became acquainted. 
When they were no longer such strangers as to need 
to be reserved, the Senator, on the occasion of one of 
her visits, said gratefully to Mrs. Alton : 

“I am so glad that you love my wife. I feel very 
much indebted to you. You see, Mrs. Cushman has 
always been so much alone, so much away from other 
women, she doesn’t seem to mix with them very well. 
They don’t seem to be able to reach her at all. You 
have found her heart. I know that, to have done 
that, you yourself must be brave, and strong, and 
true.” 

Such an exhibition of feeling was remarkable in 
the Senator, and he moved away, as if surprised at 
having spoken out so frankly. But later he said: 

“Mrs. Alton, you are a writer with keen percep- 
tion and feeling. You have true womanly delicacy. 


10 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


If you want material for a story write the story 
of Mrs. Cushman’s beautiful, sunny, helpful life. 
Do her the justice of showing her to the world 
as she is. Like all women who are at all different 
from others she has been much misunderstood. It is 
my deep desire that she should be described as she is. 
Mine has been a life of work — of unceasing work, 
with but little relaxation to relieve the tedium. But 
through it all I have been intensely happy with my 
wife, to whom I owe all that I am or expect to be. 
And my happiness has been increased since you en- 
tered into her life, as I know that she longed for 
the love and appreciation of a good woman.” 

The Senator’s praise of and pride in his wife were 
well merited. She could entertain an ambassador 
with the same ease and grace as she could (and often 
did) receive an American Indian. Among the culti- 
vated and tactful women of the capital, too, she was 
as much at her ease as among a few familiar friends 
in her own house. Her perfect mental poise was 
never shaken; she was never guilty of solecisms com- 
mitted by those who are not sure of themselves, and 
who are at the same time afraid of others. This wom- 
an — tall, slender, dark, dashing and rich — was a true 
child of the West, although descended from kings. 

The world thinks that such a woman as the one 
described is particularly attractive to the big-brained, 
active, scholarly man; that she is his ideal embodied 
in the flesh, and that, when he can, he chooses such a 
one for his wife. On the whole the world is usually 
right. But, Mrs. Cushman, when the Senator had 
married her, had been but in the bud. She was sim- 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 11 


ply a beautiful and promising girl. It was at his 
side that she had developed into a woman of the 
world, that her character had grown and crystallized. 
And as she had grown her husband had grown. It 
was her urging which had induced him to make the 
best of himself ; it was her example which had en- 
couraged him. During the last years of their lives 
together here Mrs. Cushman was one of the busiest of 
women. From one o’clock in the afternoon until the 
early hours of the following morning she went 
through an almost interminable round of social du- 
ties. All this she did, not for pleasure alone, but in 
her husband’s interest. This the Senator recognized, 
and for it he was grateful, feeling that much of his 
success was due to his wife’s efforts on his behalf. 
This consoled him for the fact that he rarely saw his 
wife during the day, except when, in the early 
morning, he tiptoed into her room and found her 
sound asleep. He would pause and look at her af- 
fectionately ; and then, before leaving the house, 
would give strict orders that nothing should be al- 
lowed to disturb her. Then he would go out into 
the world to take up the battle where he had left off. 

Such was a widely known man ; such his home life 
with the wife of his choice. 

Senator Cushman had little time for social affairs, 
for his was a life of work and study. He was never 
much interested in any woman except his wife, who, 
to him was always a study, always a surprise. She 
was a well-informed, clever and tactful woman of the 
world. She kept his home. She amused him and won 
his admiration. She brought sunshine and variety 


12 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


into his life. She made him known. She bore his 
name worthily, and gave him no concern. Her enter- 
tainments were among the best given in Washington. 
The Cushmans knew everybody who was anybody, 
and were invited everywhere among the high officials 
in Washington. Besides, they mixed with the learned 
and clever in New York and Boston. Mrs. Cushman’s 
activities were as limitless as her health and amiability 
were perfect. As Malcom Chester she had been hap- 
py in her childhood, happy in girlhood; and later 
she was a happy wife. During her life she had en- 
countered few hardships and still fewer real sorrows. 
When she was but sixteen she had met Allerton Cush- 
man, who had fallen in love with her. Before she 
was seventeen she was his wife. 

She had married with nothing more than pity in 
her heart ; but in time that pity had grown into love. 
During the nineteen years of her married life, at the 
time this story opens, she had never openly meddled 
in his political affairs, though she had often, by her 
savoir faire, saved him much unpleasantness. She 
was strong where he was weak. He was a bluff man, 
lacking tact; and his manner often offended those 
whom it was to his interest to conciliate. Where he 
gave offense she made reconciliation. The Senator 
was not slow to recognise how much he owed to his 
charming wife. His confession to Mrs. Alton of his 
indebtedness was spontaneous and creditable to him. 


CHAPTER II. 


T he marriage of Mrs. Cushman’s parents 
was the consummation of one of the most 
romantic and interesting courtships in the 
history of a great state. Her mother’s family had 
emigrated from Scotland, and had landed in this 
country at New Orleans. Thence they took steamer 
and ascended the Mississippi River, going far north, 
finally settling on one of the rich table-lands border- 
ing on that mighty stream. They made their home 
on a wild, open space, not far from St. Anthony. 
The head of the family labored as a missionary 
among the Indians. But he did not devote all his 
time and strength to the uplifting of the red man. 
With true Scottish shrewdness he secured land, which 
he farmed and on which he raised stock. When he 
landed he was a man of some means, and in course 
of time he not only prospered, but became rich. 

During these pioneer days the handsome and dash- 
ing daughter of the missionary was courted by the 
equally dashing and handsome Edward Chester, who 
had come over to this country for that express pur- 
pose. He was a Scotchman by birth, and a graduate 
of the University of Dublin. But he had forsaken 
everything on the other side to follow the girl who, 
when she left Scotland, had inconsiderately brought 
his heart with her. Of course she was, to him, the in- 
carnation of beauty. 

Hers was a merry life. Attended sometimes by one 

suitor, sometimes by another, she galloped over the 
13 


U THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


plains on horseback or sped over the rivers in a canoe. 
At parties she was the gayest of the gay ; when she at- 
tended the hops at the Fort, she was the center of 
attraction. Of a sunny disposition, she was always 
ready to share in the simple pleasures that could be 
devised in a new and unsettled country. She lived 
the outdoor life so loved by her kin across the sea, — 
a life of freedom from the restraints of city con- 
ventionality. When she knew that she was as much 
in love with Edward Chester as he was with her, she 
did not long keep him on the anxious bench, but, put- 
ting aside all other offers, married the man of her 
choice. The heart of the Commandant of the Fort 
is said to have been broken by this. He was so sure 
that he would never find any one else who could take 
her place that he remained unmarried. If he could 
not have Anna Malcom, no other girl could have him. 
In which he showed more steadfastness than the ma- 
jority of his brethren. 

The marriage was a perfect union. Into the lives 
of the happy pair came, as their first child, the girl 
who afterwards became the wife of Senator Cush- 
man. When* the girl was yet a child, the mother was 
thrown frc^i her horse and killed. For a few years 
Malcom was cared for by relatives; then at the age 
of twelve she was sent to a convent in St. Louis to be 
educated. While she was living in St. Louis, Aller- 
ton Cushman, a struggling lawyer, although an ex- 
governor of a young state, saw her picture and fell 
in love with it. It was while spending a vacation at 
the house of her uncle he saw the picture. The sweet 
innocent face made such an impression on him that 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 15 


he declared to the uncle and aunt that he would never 
be satisfied until he had seen the original. Soon after 
Mr. Cushman had declared this, Malcom came home, 
having finished her four years at school. It was while 
paying her first visit to her uncle and aunt at Bloom- 
ington, about fourteen miles from her St. Anthony 
home, that the two met for the first time. He saw 
her twice before he was introduced to her. On the 
first occasion there came into the room where he sat 
reading, a beautiful girl whose face and hands were 
stained with grape juice. Behind her trudged a 
young fellow carrying a basket of the fruit which 
she had gathered in the woods near. One sunny 
afternoon several young girls were wading in the 
shallow water of the lake, splashing and screaming 
like nymphs at play, when two sportsmen, who had 
noticed the girls, also waded into the water near them. 
The girls dropped their skirts with a scream, and 
scampered for the shore for their shoes and stockings. 

It was at dinner on the day of the second glimpse 
of the girl that Mr. Cushman was introduced. But 
he had no chance of a chat with her; for, as soon as 
dinner was over, she and her companions left for a 
trip. Again and again he sought her, ut to no 
purpose. It was not to be expected that such a young 
girl would take any special interest in a man of his 
age and character. She was still a child, not ready 
to fall in love, nor yet aware of the possibility of 
making a good match. Finally the aunt, out of the 
pure kindness of her warm Scotch heart, induced the 
girl to please him by talking to him a little. Having 
thus secured Malcom’s attention, he proceeded to 


16 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


break the ice still more by talking to her, — manlike, 
about the subjects which most interested him. He 
talked literature and told her about his visits to 
Washington. The result was better than he had any 
right to expect, for his listener grew interested. 
Then, one day, her curiosity prompted her to go into 
his room where he kept his books, to see what he had 
there to read. She picked up one and began to turn 
over the leaves. While she was thus engaged, he 
entered ; and, as was natural, they fell to talking about 
the book she was reading, — then about others. Im- 
mediately on returning home he sent her a package of 
books which he selected with great care. Among them 
was a copy of “Jane Eyre,” which he begged her to 
read carefully to please him. On his next visit, to 
the farm at Bloomington, where the pretty Malcom 
spent much of her time, having read the book as re- 
quested, she was more than ever interested in the 
lonely man who evidently valued her friendship. 
Pity, the forerunner of love, was taking possession 
of her. Still she had no serious intentions. She had 
given but little thought to marriage; although like 
all normal girls she had had visions of a Prince 
Charming whose coming she looked for some day. 
Never, however, had there entered her dreams a 
man so homely, so much older than herself, as 
was the ex-Governor. W^orst of all he dressed 
badly, with an utter indifference to what was 
fitting, as well as with an entire and painful lack 
of taste. 

He felt that he could not expect to win the girl’s 
love. At the same time, with the intensity of his age, 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 17 


he felt that he could not be happy without her. So 
he made up his mind that he would win her, and 
trust to the future to gain her affection. In his own 
way he prosecuted his campaign. He constantly 
danced attention upon her, and frequently sent her 
books and other presents. He was more than satisfied 
when he got the opportunity of visiting with her 
for a few minutes. Sometimes he displayed more 
determination than tact, as for instance when, re- 
turning home in the early evening from Washington, 
where he had been engaged in a case before the Su- 
preme Court, he drove over in a snowstorm — the read- 
ing world knows the courage required to face a snow- 
storm in the cold northwest. While a little supper was 
being prepared for the visitor, the aunt tried in 
vain to induce the object of his visit to get out 
of bed, dress and go down and talk to her ardent 
admirer. 

Slowly his persistence made itself felt, and he man- 
aged to get the girl to accompany him on strolls over 
the hillsides and along the river banks, exploring the 
woods and Indian mounds. One day they wandered 
to the top of the highest hill in the neighborhood, — 
a hill clothed from base to crown with a fine growth 
of sturdy young oaks, and overlooking a beautiful 
valley. In a grapevine swing. Nature’s own handi- 
work, Malcom sat down to rest. Sitting by her side 
her companion told her of his life, a sad and pitiful 
tale; told her of his failures, his hopes; told her of 
the woman in whom he had once trusted implicitly, 
and who had mercilessly betrayed his trust and 
crushed him. The young girl listened pityingly, but 


18 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


said nothing. Such sorrow she could not fathom, but 
her heart was stirred with sympathy. Never had 
she dreamed that any life could be so sad, that 
so much havoc could be wrought by a heartless 
woman. 

Noticing the effect that his recital had produced, 
Mr. Cushman was not slow to follow up the advan- 
tage gained. His voice changed, his manner grew 
winning as he declared to the girl that, if she would 
but try to love him and would become his wife, he 
would devote himself entirely to her, — would win for 
her every honor that his country had to bestow upon 
the beautiful wife of a successful man. He made no 
attempt to disguise the fact that he was poor; but 
vowed that, with the incentive he sought, the incentive 
which she alone could give him, he would overcome 
poverty, would win the world for her and lay it at 
her feet. Finally he declared passionately that she 
was the arbiter of his fate, that she had it in her 
power to make of him what she would. 

Such terrible earnestness the care-free child of the 
frontier had never before witnessed. It was a new 
thought to her that she held in her hands the destiny 
of a man, to make or unmake. She was not insensible 
to his promises of position and wealth, and it did not 
occur to her to doubt that they would be fulfilled. 
But, bewildered, she maintained her poise enough to 
refuse to answer him that day ; and sensibly asked for 
time to think the matter over seriously. 

They sauntered slowly homeward in the gathering 
twilight, neither saying a word, both thinking earn- 
estly. Her devoted lover had not so much as touched 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 19 


her hand; and although he longed with an intensity 
which made him tremble, to take her in his arms and 
press his lips to hers, he restrained himself. He was 
determined to win the child’s respect, if nothing more. 
And he knew the value of patience — or thought he 
did. 

Allerton Cushman was a student to the core. He 
had in turn been teacher, soldier, governor, and was, 
at the time of which we write, a practising lawyer. 
Of course he had dabbled in politics, as do all* men 
of any public spirit in the West. His growing young 
state needed his services. Of that he was well aware, 
just as he was fully aware that he ought to se- 
cure a lucrative official position. But so far his am- 
bition had not been crystallized. Besides he was 
handicapped by careless habits and lack of savoir 
faire. Some years earlier he had married unwisely. 
The woman was not his equal, was entirely without 
education; and instead of spurring him on to great 
achievements, had acted as a drag. She could not 
rise, nor could he. To drown his chagrin and dis- 
appointment, he began to drink and to play at cards. 
His wife’s conduct was such as gave him grounds for 
divorce. Having separated from her, the ex-Governor 
lived a solitary life in his big house. His was a dis- 
tant, reserved nature which did not seek friendship, 
consequently he found none. He was not interested 
in his neighbors, and in consequence they let him se- 
verely alone. His life was spent in the law courts, in 
political meetings and at the gaming table. Now and 
then he broke the monotony by inviting a small party 
of men to his house, all men of tastes similar to his 


20 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


own; and occasionally he made trips to some of the 
big cities. He had no particular object in living. De- 
spair and hope were alike strangers to him. In fact 
he vegetated rather than lived. 

But he felt that, could he but win the young girl 
whom he had met at the Bloomington farm, he would 
then possess all that his life lacked. So insistently did 
he impress this upon Malcom, so deeply did she feel 
her responsibility, that at last she consented to marry 
him. All her relatives, with the exception of the uncle 
and aunt at whose house the meetings had taken place, 
were furious. Her father forbade his would-be son- 
in-law the house. But for the influence of her aunt 
the girl would probably have weakened in her deter- 
mination, thinking that she was doing wrong in con- 
senting to a marriage, the mere thought of which 
provoked so much bitterness. 

Malcom was utterly unsophisticated and unaccus- 
tomed to the outer world. True she had spent four 
years in a convent, but she was flnished in nothing, 
unless in her sweet politeness and gracious manners. 
She could sing agreeably, and played the harp and 
piano well. She was naturally an excellent reader and 
reciter. During her unfettered life on the farm she 
had learned to ride and swim, to drive and row, to 
climb trees and to hunt for wild fruits. But none of 
these things could be regarded as preparation for the 
position of wife. In the village her associates were 
girls of her own age ; some of them white, others half- 
breed Indians. The life of the community was the 
same as that of every new community everywhere and 
at every time. Malcom’s father had been unwilling 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 21 


to marry again, therefore she had been deprived of a 
mother’s guiding care and training. The father him- 
self died shortly after his daughter’s marriage to 
Allerton Cushman, whose threshold he had stubbornly 
refused to cross. 


CHAPTER III. 

*‘No man ever lived a right life who had not been chastened 
by a woman’s love, strengthened by her courage, and guided 
by her discretion.” 

T he people of the little world in which the 
Cushmans lived were like the people of every 
other little world, in that they regarded it as 
one of their prerogatives to interfere in the affairs of 
others. They did not approve of the marriage, and 
their disapproval they did not hesitate to make known. 
They had reasons for their stand, and their reasons 
satisfied them. Allerton Cushman was known by them 
to be an ex-governor (that was not reckoned against 
him ) , a lawyer and a politician. But he was regarded 
as a man of no particular promise and as sadly lack- 
ing in good feeling, besides being one of the most in- 
veterate of gamesters. He had actually beaten the 
pastor of the church at poker ; and, not satisfied with 
having beaten him, informed the reverend gentleman’s 
flock of the fact, adding that the dominie had paid up 
like a man. Although clever, the ex-Governor was not 
sought after by the prominent men, nor recognized 
by the leading women of the town, and remained a 
recluse. 

The society folk were interested in a way in the 
young lawyer and his beautiful wife, who was under- 
stood to be very wealthy. But society had been ig- 
nored, and for that society must inflict punishment. 
The punishment consisted of ostracization. 

The cruel loneliness and emptiness of the life of the 

young bride in a frontier town bit deep. Harsh criti- 
22 


THE SENATOR'S SWEETHEART 23 

cisms and crushing, commonplace traditions pierced 
into the marrow and continued studied neglect chilled 
the blood. One who rises triumphantly above such 
conditions must perforce be made of good metal. Mal- 
com had no girl friends except her sisters and a 
cousin and none of these could be constantly with 
her. She had no means of shaking off the depress- 
ing influence of the terrible monotony of her exist- 
ence. She did not know women, she had no confidante ; 
while of men she knew, if possible, less than of women. 

At first she was filled with pride at the thought of 
being the mistress of the big house. It was somewhat 
imposing in appearance; but she soon found what it 
was to put a place in order which had been the head- 
quarters of a careless bachelor. She managed to oc- 
cupy herself for a time arranging everything. Then 
she looked to make friends among the townspeople, 
whom she expected to call on her. She was not con- 
scious of having done any of them any wrong; she 
was* unsophistocated and sweet-hearted, and knew of 
no reason why she should be ignored by the young or 
the old. That she was being systematically ignored 
she was compelled to admit. No callers came for her. 
Sometimes, in the evening, a man would call to chat 
with Mr. Cushman, but that did not cheer her soli- 
tude. Worst of all, her husband began to long for 
his boon companions “down town.” On two occa- 
sions when he joined them for a smoke and a game he 
had to be helped home by his friends, just as before 
his marriage. 

The young wife was sorely tried, but ^he kept her 
poise, and displayed more generalship than would 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


have done many who were much more worldly wise 
than she ; had they been placed in the same cruel posi- 
tion. On neither of the occasions referred to did she 
say an unkind word. She entered her husband’s room 
on the following morning, smiling, and ready to help 
him to “get well,” as she could not bear to see him 
“indisposed.” Young as she was she realized some- 
thing of the terrible future that was in store for her if 
that state of affairs were allowed to continue, so she 
made up her mind to act. One windy winter evening 
Mr. Cushman, nervous and restless, rose from his big 
chair and began to put on his cap and great-coat, with 
the intention of making a trip to one of his haunts. 
The young wife made no remark. As he reached the 
door he turned and said: 

“I shall be back very soon, Malcom. I have to go 
down town to see a man on a little matter of busi- 
ness. I sha’n’t be long. But don’t wait up for me. 
You’d better go to bed.” 

Looking up quietly from her seat by the fire she 
answered : 

“No hurry, and no matter, dear. Only, if you go 
down town to-night, I shall not be here when you 
come back.” 

“Not be here when I come back !” he almost shouted 
in astonishment. “Where will you be, then? You 
must not go out in this weather. Where are you 
thinking of going. Whom are you going to see?” 

“That I do not choose to tell you. I will simply re- 
peat, that if you go out now, you will not find me here 
when you return.” 

She betrayed no anger, but quiet, firm resolve 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 25 


showed itself clearly. Her stand was the greatest 
possible surprise to her husband. For a time he stood 
and looked at her in blank amazement. No word was 
said; no sound was heard save the crackling of the 
logs within and the roaring of the wind without. 
Slowly he took off his great-coat ; and, going into the 
hall, hung it up with his cap. He returned to the par- 
lor and threw his gloves on the table. And still not a 
word was said. It was a quiet trial of strength. The 
husband gradually approached his young wife, and 
looked intently into her calm, beautiful face. Then 
he almost cried, ‘‘Oh, God, why do I sin against my- 
self and break the casket wherein my life lies stored !” 
She remained motionless. 

For what seemed a long time they remained thus. 
Then he begged: 

“Forgive me, Malcom ! It will never happen again. 
I have learned my lesson. I was a brute to leave you 
alone before ; and you were an angel never to reproach 
me for the condition in which I was brought home. 
Do speak to me, and tell me that you forgive me.” 

He put his arm around her and drew her to him. 
She did not resist, but neither did she respond to his 
caresses. Presently she looked up into his face, her 
eyes full and her lip trembling. Still no word from 
her. Then, sitting down in his big chair, he took her 
on his knee and comforted and caressed her as if she 
were a child whom he had wronged — as, indeed, she 
was. Finally, she gave a sob, and, putting her arms 
around his neck, she cried herself quiet. After awhile 
she spoke for the first time since she had thrown down 
the gauntlet: 


26 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


“You see, you have made me so many great prom- 
ises. Now, you are all I have — father, mother, 
brother. Stay at home with your books if not with 
your wife. Perhaps you will find in them what you 
need to make you great and rich. Then we can go 
away from this lonely place. I never was alone on 
the farm ; I am nearly always alone here. Are we al- 
ways to live like this ? Are none of the people about 
here your friends Why don’t the ladies call on me? 
What have I done to them?” 

“You are young and beautiful, and you have mar- 
ried a crabbed old man — one much your senior. The 
world did not think it right that I should win such a 
prize ; and now you are to be punished as well as I for 
having undertaken to help me to rise above the world 
and above myself. Dearest, you have brought me to 
my senses. I shall not slip again. I will redeem all 
the promises I made to you in the swing. Only be 
patient and help me. You can do it. Will you?” 

She promised, and kept her promise; and he re^ 
deemed his. 


CHAPTER IV. 


S EVEN years passed. During that time the 
studious, painstaking lawyer had built up for 
himself a large and lucrative practice; and, in 
addition, had won high reputation as an authority on 
International Law. Moreover, he had developed into 
a sound scholar. He had made staunch friends 
among strong men and sensible women. His girl- 
wife had kept pace with him in growth. She was re- 
markably well versed in local and State politics. She 
had been of constant service to her husband, but 
that had not caused her to neglect herself. All her 
spare time she had devoted to music and books. 
Except for Shakespeare her knowledge of litera- 
ture was almost as extensive as that of her 
husband. 

Allerton Cushman gave to his wife all that it was in 
his power to give her, and she seemed contented 
with her lot, with her husband’s progress and with her 
own cultivation. But her contentment was only seem- 
ing. Her ambitions were far from being satisfied. 
She wanted to see her husband in the United States 
Senate, and she longed to travel. She had read a 
great deal about the world and she wanted to see it. 
Besides she considered that she was qualified to fill 
an important role in society. 

One evening, while sitting alone on the wide veran- 
da of her home, as she watched her husband approach- 
ing in the semi-twilight, she determined to urge him 
to give rein to his and her ambitions. With her de- 

37 


28 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


termination meant action, and prompt action. For 
hours husband and wife sat on the veranda talking 
and planning. When they retired Mr. Cushman had 
made up his mind to work for the nomination and 
election to the United States Senate. He had tried 
some years before, but had been defeated. There 
were, and for a long time had been, factions in the 
community. The Ramsey faction, known as the 
Presbyterian crowd, was strong in the city of St. 
Anthony, while the state folk were for Mr. Cush- 
man. But the city machine used all its influence 
against him because of the poker episode. The im- 
mediate result of the struggle was a tie; the further 
result was the selection of a dark horse. But much 
as Mr. Cushman resented what he considered un- 
fairness, much as he was chagrined at his defeat, he 
did not permit himself to be turned from his liter- 
ary labors. Cheered by his wife he wrote his 
lecture on “Hamlet,” and followed that with a life 
of Madame Roland, and The Law in Shakespeare, 
and on other great subjects. Thus he worked on 
steadily, until the evening when his wife urged 
him to renew the attempt to secure the nomi- 
nation. 

It was decided that work should be commenced at 
once. It was an opportune time, for they had just re- 
turned from Chicago, where he had made a masterly 
speech before the convention. An audience of ten 
thousand had cheered him to the echo, and the ap- 
plause had spread his reputation. The wary politician 
took a little time to placate some whose ill-will would 
have worked him harm, and to secure the active co- 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART ^9 


operation of his friends. Then he was nominated 
unanimously and was returned without opposition. 
One of his wife’s desires was thus gratified and that 
led to the fulfilment of the other. 

On moving to Washington a pretty but modest 
house was secured, and the young wife looked forward 
to a happy and enviable life. She was fully aware 
that the new member has to bide his time; that his 
progress, to be successful, must be slow. So she was 
willing to wait for the success which she knew would 
come; but while waiting she did everything in her 
power to lay the foundation for that success. By sys- 
tematic reading and study she not only developed 
mentally, but fitted herself for that position in life 
which she as a Senator’s wife would be called upon 
to fill. She was determined to be in everything a help- 
meet, in nothing a drag. The result was a capable, 
accomplished woman of the world — a society woman 
at her best and among society women one of the best 
of leaders. 

In all her life she had never done a day’s work; 
but in Washington she soon became one of the hard' 
est workers in the city. Her husband worked and 
grew as he had done for years. Together they de- 
veloped. The opportunities for advancement af- 
forded to them by their new life had an inspiriting 
effect on them. Both of them had needed this wider 
environment, this more sympathetic atmosphere, to 
ripen their individual traits. The scholarly Senator 
was among his peers in Washington, and was appre- 
ciated. Here he was respected, whereas, formerly, he 
had been envied and often disliked. His beautiful wife 


30 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


was secure in the position she had won for herself, 
and had no rival. She was at all times well able to 
hold her own, and she reflected credit upon her native 
state. She was the lady introduced at the beginning 
of this story. 


CHAPTER VI. 


I T was only natural that such a remarkable cou- 
ple should attract the ablest men and the cleverest 
women in the city. Their home on Massachusetts 
Avenue became one of the centers of brilliant Wash- 
ington. Statesmen, politicans, literati, men of power 
and ability from all sections of the country, sought 
the Senator for his advice in all contingencies; and, 
just as often, for the sake of meeting his clever and 
beautiful wife. With the Cushmans to meet the one 
meant to meet the other. They were not always, it is 
true, to be found together; but they introduced each 
other’s friends. In order to see the Senator elsewhere 
than at the Capitol it was usually necessary to climb 
two flights of stairs to the book-lover’s den, which 
was a veritable smoker’s paradise. When found 
among his wife’s friends he had the finesse to ap- 
pear to be one of them; and of the scholar, the re- 
cluse, there was no trace. On such occasions he was 
simply a quiet, retiring man of the world, polite, gen- 
tlemanly, and of few words. Mrs. Cushman’s Sunday 
evenings were among the most frequented gatherings. 
An invitation to one of them was a passport into so- 
ciety, and was eagerly sought after by those who 
wished to enter the world of art, politics and letters. 
These gatherings were very informal, and in this lay 
their great charm and helpfulness to all who were 
fortunate enough to be invited. Mrs. Cushman was 
acquainted with nearly every man of prominence in 
the country. But, odd as it may appear, she could not 
31 


S2 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


easily win women, although those women who got to 
know her well were exceedingly attached to her and 
trusted her implicitly. In explanation it may be men- 
tioned that she had spent so many years of her young 
life alone with her husband, and during that time had 
seen but little of women, out of whose ways she had, 
as it were, grown. Besides, she knew that place and 
power come from men, and being a born diplomatist 
she preferred to cultivate those who had power. Dur- 
ing the years of study and quiet in St. Anthony, 
where the monotony was only broken occasionally by 
a trip East or South with her husband, she had given 
little thought to the social side of life, after the lone- 
liness of the first few months of her married life had 
worn off. She had, however, learned that the feeling 
of the townspeople was against her because she had 
married a divorced man; also, that many of those 
who condemned her felt bitterly toward her husband. 
But, as she was innocent of any wrongdoing, and as 
her own conscience did not condemn her, she soon 
dismissed from her mind whatever impression the un- 
charitableness of others produced. She was constant- 
ly occupied, and besides she was the companion of 
one with whom she was in complete accord, and that 
to her seemed to be the nearest approach to heaven 
that she could expect. Another reason for the dis- 
favor of the women was that Mrs. Cushman was so 
beautiful, so winning, that men turned to her as 
flowers do to the sun. This is not calculated to make a 
woman popular among women. She who has such 
magnetism, no matter how much men may like her, 
will never be popular with her own sex. 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART S3 


Husband and wife had the fullest confidence in each 
other’s ability and sympathy with each other’s aims. 
The Senator was, naturally, very proud of the wife 
who was such an honor to him, and very devoted to 
her to whom he owed his success. Mrs. Cushman 
often planned what she would do when mistress of the 
White House. Of course she would not slavishly fol- 
low in the footsteps of her predecessors. That she 
could not do. She always had to launch out for her- 
self and be independent. And her husband was al- 
ways ready to hear her plans, just as she was ever 
willing to listen to his. For six years they worked 
and planned thus, enjoying life to the utmost. The 
people of his state were very proud of their Senator, 
who did them credit. They were quite as proud of 
and satisfied with the woman at his side. She was 
one of themselves. If they went to Washington they 
knew that they would not only be received but wel- 
comed by their senior Senator ; that their views would 
be listened to with respect ; that the information 
which they chose to give would be acceptable, and 
that, in all probability, they would be invited to 
dinner or luncheon in his beautiful home. In this 
way Mrs. Cushman was enabled to make of every 
caller on her husband if not a sincere admirer cer- 
tainly a friend. 

When Mrs. Cushman returned to her native town 
many of those who had previously treated her with in- 
difference or neglect hastened to call on the Sena- 
tor’s wife to pay their respects. Those who had been 
most disagreeable to her before were the most marked 
in their fawning or patronage. Some who hastened 


34j the SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


to greet her did so out of curiosity to see one who had 
gained such an enviable position in the social world. 
But she did not forget or forgive the years during 
which so many of them had ignored her; and al- 
though she politically avoided giving offence, she let 
it be seen that she did not forget — that the gulf be- 
tween them, the gulf which they had dug, could never 
be bridged. 


CHAPTER VI. 


D uring the last half of his first terttl 111 the 
Senate Allerton Cushman one day received a 
call from William Ralston, a well-known man 
in his state. Ralston asked Cushman to stump the 
state in the interest of Ralston’s candidacy for gover- 
nor, saying that he was perfectly aware that he could 
not be elected without the Senator’s aid. In return he 
promised to give his assistance the following year in 
the state campaign for the election of the legislature 
that would either re-elect Senator Cushman or choose 
his successor in the United States Senate. The Sena- 
tor, having thought the matter over, consented to aid 
Ralston. 

As soon as it became known in St. Anthony and 
in his state generally that Senator Cushman intended 
to stump the state for Ralston, friends of the former 
called upon him in numbers and others sent him 
messages, urging him most strongly to reconsider 
his decision. He was warned that Ralston himself 
had hopes of being the next United States Senator, 
and that, to aid him in his ambitions, would simply 
mean giving him the means to carry out his desire. 
But the Senator could not believe that Ralston could 
act so dishonorably ; and, when the time came, carried 
out his promise to the letter, stumping the state and 
working with might and main. Even when Ralston 
succeeded in getting in men who were known to be 
and to have been always enemies of the Senator, the 

35 


86 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


latter was not convinced of the duplicity of the man 
whom he had befriended. 

When the state legislature convened in January 
so much confidence did the Senator have^ in the man 
whom he had made governor that he did not think it 
necessary to leave Washington to attend to his re- 
election until urged to do so by his wife. He went 
to the Merchants’ Hotel, where he registered and re- 
mained in his room. Not until his friends brought 
to him proof positive that money was being used to 
secure his defeat would he believe that he had been 
^uped. 

As a matter of fact, heavy bribes had been paid to 
a number of men, who had been instructed to vote for 
the Senator, to remain away from the caucus. So 
many absented themselves that, when the votes were 
taken, the result was a tie between the Governor and 
the Senator. Several attempts to break the deadlock 
failed, and there was a general murmur of “Tie 
again!” Then, during the progress of another bal- 
lot, when it seemed that the result would be the same 
as before, a new voice shouted “Cushman!” The 
voice was that of a delegate who was supposed to be 
absent, and who had been reported sick at home. But 
he had smuggled himself into the cloakroom, and at 
the critical moment cast the vote which re-elected 
Senator Cushman. 

Ralston never knew how far he was from the goal 
of his ambition, nor did he ever discover how he was 
foiled by a woman. In the caucus were thirty Catho- 
lic delegates who were democrats, but who had been 
instructed by a priest, whose word they obeyed^ to 


THE SENATOR'S SWEETHEART 37 


change their votes to Cushman should the voting end 
in a tie. These instructions had been given in ac- 
cordance with the desire of the Holy Father that no 
stone should be left unturned to secure the return of 
Senator Cushman, because of the fight which he had 
made in the Senate of the United States against 
Cahenslyism. Much as he was distressed by the fac- 
tion fight the Senator did not lose his self-control. 
Even when he felt that his chances were gone, and 
that he had been betrayed and sold by the men whom 
he had regarded and treated as his friends, he did not 
betray concern. At the moment he counted all lost he 
was cheered by a telegram received from his wife in 
Washington, a climax to the messages which she had 
sent him almost hourly : 

“Do not despair. You will win, if only by one 
vote.” 

Mrs. Cushman’s courage had never failed her. She 
had been so eagerly interested in the contest that she 
had done what her husband had failed to do — she had 
heeded the warnings of his friends, and was pre- 
pared to act. She had never allowed her hand to ap- 
pear in her husband’s public affairs, nor did she in 
this case; but she worked none the less effectively. 
She was convinced that questionable methods were be- 
ing used in the contest to defeat her husband, and 
she resolved to thwart them. 

No one seemed to remember that Mrs. Cushman 
had been educated in a convent. Now all the world 
knows how the Catholic Church cares for its young 
women, in whose welfare the priests never lose their 
interest. While not a Catholic, Mrs. Cushman was 


138 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


of great interest to those who had educated her. 
They watched her brilliant career, while she had kept 
in touch with the church, in particular with a popu- 
lar priest, one of the best beloved prelates in this 
country then, as he is to-day. Unknown to her hus- 
band she had visited the priest in question and had 
confided in him. She was convinced that her hus- 
band’s re-election was assured if anything could be 
done to assure it. That she recognized as a promise 
which she knew would not be broken. 

Soon after the election of Senator Cushman for his 
second term came the dark days of panic, with strikes 
and general discontent ready to blaze out. The 
President in Washington was almost without support 
from his Cabinet. He was clear as to his duty, sure 
of his power, and lacked not courage. But for a time 
it almost looked as if there were no government at 
Washington — that the people’s government had per- 
ished at the hands of its makers. From all parts of 
the country and from every kind of organization tele- 
grams poured in. Everywhere excitement reigned su- 
preme. But, as has always been the case, the strong, 
ready man rose to the occasion. The President no 
longer stood alone. 

Late one night a messenger rang the bell at the 
door of the Cushman house. Without waiting for a 
servant to answer the ring, Mrs. Cushman hurried 
downstairs herself. There was a telegram requiring 
an answer, so, asking the messenger inside, she went 
upstairs again, and softly opened the door of her 
husband’s room. He was sleeping soundly. She 
knew that if he were awakened suddenly he would be 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART S9 


nervous and excited, so she spoke his name very softly. 
As he did not hear her, she repeated it louder. Al 
last he awoke and said: 

“Why, Malcom, were you calling me?” 

“Yes, Allerton,” she answered. “Here is a message 
which requires an answer, and I knew you would 
wish to be called.” 

He made an effort to rise, but she said: 

“No, no, don’t get up. I’ll fetch your tablet and 
pen and ink.” 

He asked her to read the message to him, which she 

did. It was : “We, the railway employees of D , 

earnestly request you to support Senator Kyle’s mail 
train resolution now before Congress. Please answer. 
— President A. R. U.” Then he took the pad, which 
she handed to him, and sitting up he wrote slowly 
and clearly the telegram which was to make him fa- 
mous. His message ran as follows: 

“I have received your telegram. I will not support 
Senator Kyle’s resolution. It is against your welfare. 
It is a blow at the security, peace and rights of mil- 
lions of people who never harmed you or your associ- 
ates. My duty to the Constitution and the law for- 
bids me to support a resolution to legalize lawlessness. 
The same duty rests on you and your associates. The 
power to regulate commerce among the several states 
is vested by the Constitution in Congress. Your as- 
sociates have usurped that power at Hammond and 
other places, and in particular instances have de- 
stroyed commerce between the states. You are about 
to levy war against the United States, and you will 
find the definition of that act in the Constitution. I 


40 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


trust that wiser counsel will yet prevail. You might 
as well ask me to vote to dissolve this government. 

“Allerton Cushman.” 

Then the thoughtful wife tucked him in, kissed him 
“good-night,” turned out the lights, and passed softly 
downstairs. She sent off the telegram which, next 
morning, appeared in all the leading papers, and at- 
tracted universal attention. The true, ringing loyalty 
appealed to those who believed in their country and its 
government, and the writer towered head and shoul- 
ders above his fellows in the estimation of his country- 
men. 

Before he left his breakfast table congratulatory 
messages began to pour in. At the Capitol more 
reached him. All day long the stream kept up; and 
for many days later letters came by every mail, prais- 
ing him for the stand he had taken, for the trumpet- 
call which he had sent out to the country. Suddenly 
Fame had come to the man who for years had been 
preparing for it. Senator Cushman was the man of 
the hour. His future was secure. His usefulness 
was recognized. He was freely talked of as a Presi- 
dential possibility. 

But a giant in the business world was then also 
’ forging to the front in the world of politics, using 
the same methods for organizing men politically 
that he had used with such success in commerce; 
and he had as a candidate a life-long friend. This 
leader in the world of commerce was by the national 
committee chosen to manage the party. The cam- 
paign which followed was one of the most interesting 
in the history of the country. It resulted in the over- 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 41 


whelming success of Senator Cushman’s party. To 
him the new President turned for support; and he re- 
ceived it. When he asked for advice, as from one 
who was well trained in politics and well versed in 
the laws of his country as well as in International 
Law, the Senator loyally gave him the best. 

With the dastardly destruction of its battleship in 
a harbor belonging to a nation with which the United 
States was not at war, the rage of the country knew 
no bounds. Passions were aflame, and the cry was 
for war — a war of vengeance for a cowardly outrage. 
The President was, personally, averse to war; and, it 
was commonly believed, used his influence with many 
Senators in favor of peace. Among others he sent 
for Senator Cushman and argued with him. The 
Senator replied uncompromisingly: 

“Mr. President, I cannot see this matter in the 
light that you do. Spain must be made to pay, and 
pay dearly, for the lives of the men who lie in that 
steel coffin in Havana harbor. The Spaniards are 
alone responsible for the dastardly murder. The 
country calls for vengeance. We must obey the coun- 
try’s call!” 

From this on there was no argument between the 
President and Senator Cushman. The Westerner had 
heard the voices of the nation. The Executive had 
just heard the strongest man voice the nation’s sen- 
timents. 


CHAPTER VII. 


D uring the war, even through the hot 
months of an unusually long summer, it was 
imperative for every member of the govern- 
ment to remain at his post. Senator Cushman was 
one of those who could not be spared. In response to 
several pressing invitations for the summer’s outing 
the Senator persuaded his wife to take any trip she 
desired and to try to enjoy the summer without his 
company. She finally decided to go through the 
West, where she was entertained right royally. 
Thence, upon another invitation, she made a trip to 
Alaska. For nearly four months she was interested 
and instructed ; but suddenly, while in Skagway, there 
overcame her an absolute longing to return home. 
As far as she knew there was no reason why, at that 
particular moment, she should go back to Wash- 
ington ; but it seemed to her that she actually 
heard an inner voice urging her to get back as 
soon as possible. Following her instinct or in- 
tuition, she at once set out for Seattle. At her hotel 
there she found that telegrams and letters had 
been waiting for her for two weeks. One of the tele- 
grams from her husband announced that the Presi- 
dent had appointed him to an important mission in 
Paris, but had requested him to await her return, 
that the party was to sail from New York on Sep- 
tember 17. Of course the Senator wanted to go 
with them if possible. 

Mrs. Cushman immediately made arrangements to 
43 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 43 


travel with as little delay as might be. Nevertheless 
her journey across the continent was dreary. She 
was still depressed by the sights of the degradation 
of men and women, the suffering of horses and dogs 
there in the frozen North. And her spirit was al- 
most crushed by the sensation of being shut in by 
the mighty mountains. Then she would contrast in 
her mind the awful state of affairs she had just left, 
with the radiance of Paris, where she expected so 
much, and she marvelled that she should be making 
that long continuous trip from the far corner of 
creation to the world’s fairest Capital. She was then 
not unhappy. 

On the morning of the 17th a tall, dark woman 
alighted at the Waldorf-Astoria, and asked to be 
taken to the suite of Senator Cushman. In a few mo- 
ments she was ushered into the presence of her hus- 
band, who sat strumming on the piano, wondering 
which route his wife would take and when he would 
see her. She had sent him but one telegram, “I shall 
meet you in New York in time to sail with the party.” 
Although he knew her to be a woman of infinite re- 
source, he had not thought that it would be possible 
for her to keep her promise. He was more than 
overjoyed to see her and was proud of her achieve- 
ment in racing across the continent against time so as 
to save him from embarrassment. 

The meeting was touching. The strong man 
clasped his wife as he cried: “Malcom, my sweet- 
heart, you never yet have failed me,” and he cried 
like a child. It was the first time that husband and 
wife had been separated for such a length of time- 


44 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


Besides they were both agitated at the promise of ful- 
filment of their dreams of seeing the world and occu- 
pying a prominent place therein. 

Three hours later they were settled in their suite in 
the Campania, Mrs. Cushman receiving many com- 
pliments from the party which she had joined. As 
soon as she was alone she thought to herself that her 
highest ambition was likely to be gratified. Her hus- 
band was already a special ambassador. There was 
only one step more. Surely that would be attained! 

A short stay in London was a source of great de- 
light to the Cushmans. In Paris they found relatives 
who, although American-born, had returned to the 
Old World. The whole official world called on the 
new beauty, and the woman from the West was un- 
disputed queen. It was one round of enjoyment — 
dinners at the Elysee, the President’s box at the 
opera, visits to the ex-Empress and the ex-Queen of 
Spain, as well as luncheon with the Infanta. For 
some months the party enjoyed every privilege that a 
friendly nation can bestow upon the representatives 
of another nation. 

Shortly before the labors of the commission had 
been accomplished, Prince and Princess Romanoff 
urgently invited Mrs. Cushman and her beautiful 
American-French cousin Helene, to visit them in their 
chateau near Rouen. 

It was a party of distinguished persons that left 
the Continental Hotel that sunny morning for Sta- 
tion Saint Lazare, for a two hours’ journey to St. 
Helena, the home of the Romanoffs at Pont de I’Arch. 

After a princely luncheon the party left the 



Princess Helene 

“Content and love bring peace and joy — 
What more have queens upon a throne ?’" ' 




THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 45 


chateau by mail coach for the dear old Norman Capi- 
tal, only fifteen miles away, the Prince himself hold- 
ing the ribbons over the finest four roadsters in his 
extensive stables. From Mrs. Cushman’s mind the 
memory of that visit will never be effaced. 

Some time had been spent in visiting objects of 
interest in Rouen, when late in the afternoon Mrs. 
Cushman expressed the wish to return to the Church 
of St. Ouen, Rouen’s second cathedral, which, to 
her mind, was more beautiful even than the Cathedral 
itself. The Princess and Mrs. Cushman started for 
the church in question, but stopped for a moment 
in the Place de la Pucelle, at the poor little fountain 
which marks the spot where the Maid of Orleans was 
burned, nearly five hundred years ago. 

The two women were conversing in the low tones in 
which well-bred women talk in public, neither think- 
ing of the presence of strangers; when, suddenly, on 
raising her eyes, the American noticed, standing only 
a few steps away from her, one of the handsomest 
men she had ever seen. She was fully conscious that 
the man in question was feasting not only his eyes, 
but his very soul upon her. Her composure had 
never been known to fail her; and fortunately it did 
not on this occasion. She knew instinctively that she 
had before seen the handsome stranger, but where she 
could not remember. Wishing to get out of the em- 
barrassing position, she spoke to the Princess and 
they both moved away together. A few minutes 
later they entered the church of St. Ouen. As she 
passed one of the church fonts Mrs. Cushman dipped 
her fingers into the holy water. As she raised her 


46 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


hand to her brow her eyes again encountered those of 
the handsome stranger. He was standing on the op- 
posite side of the font. He, too, had just dipped his 
fingers in the water. Their eyes again met. They 
crossed themselves at the same moment. Again, at 
the railway station, near the carriage door, as the 
party in which was Mrs. Cushman approached, stood 
the same stranger. As she took her seat Mrs. Cush- 
man thought to herself that that was probably her 
last sight of the man. 

Arriving late in Paris, she was too weary to talk 
to her husband of the pleasant day she had spent; 
but, as he handed her into her carriage, she thought 
she again caught sight of the stranger whom she had 
seen last at the station at Rouen. He was hurrying 
through the crowd. After arriving at the hotel and 
resting, she told her husband of all the events of the 
day. When, as was her custom, she approached the 
window to throw it open, she was tempted by the 
beauty of the evening to step out on the balcony. 
As she did so she looked down, and there, in the full 
glare of the lights, she again saw the Rouen stranger. 
He smiled ever so faintly, she imagined, at her look 
of surprise. Her husband joining her they stood for 
a few moments taking in the beauty of the scene 
before them, while the stranger quietly passed on his 
way. 

Mrs. Cushman could not banish the thoughts of the 
man who had apparently dogged her footsteps that 
day. He was so handsome. He had offered no of- 
fence. His admiration was open, indeed, but it was 
respectful; and admiration no woman living can re- 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 47 


sist. She wondered what it all meant to her, how it 
would end, — if it had already ended. Had she never 
seen the man again she would have looked back to the 
incident as a unique souvenir of her travels, as it was 
altogether unlike any experience she had ever had. 
Certainly it was far from objectionable to be so 
frankly admired by a man of such commanding pres- 
ence. 

A few days later the party took the steamer for 
America. On entering her stateroom Mrs. Cushman’s 
attention was immediately attracted to a basket of 
white violets. There were many flowers, for Mrs. 
Cushman had hosts of friends ; but among them noth- 
ing was so attractive as the basket of white violets 
which had caught her eye as she entered. She was 
at once anxious to know the name of the sender. 
Nestling well within the basket, tied to a tiny bouquet, 
she found a gentleman’s visiting card, on which was 
written : 

“With the compliments of your unknown admirer, 
who hopes to see you again. Bon voyage !” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


O N landing in America Senator Cushman 
found himself more than ever in the minds 
of his countrymen, who delighted to do him 
honor. Frequently his name was coupled with that 
of the President, as if the country were equally in- 
debted to the two. The Senator was proposed for 
other positions ; but he had resolved not to leave the 
Senate, to which he had just been elected for the 
third time, and this time unanimously and without 
leaving Washington, for anything short of the Pres- 
idency. But not quite two years later his health began 
to fail. Continued application had made inroads on 
his constitution ; and it was soon evident to the physi- 
cians that his strength was broken; that the end of 
his usefulness was surely approaching. For three 
months Death drew his meshes tighter and tighter 
around the diplomat. All that time Mrs. Cushman de- 
voted herself entirely to her husband, as she had done 
ever since their marriage. Toward the end of the 
struggle the sufferer took his wife’s hand in his, and 
having kissed it respectfully and affectionately, said: 

“It’s no use resisting, Malcom. My time is fast 
approaching. For your sake I wish I could get well ; 
and I should like a few more years in which to serve 
my country. Be brave, my dear, devoted wife — 
brave as you always have been. You have been the 
sunshine in my life all these years. It was you who 
made me what I am. I owe everything to you.” 

When the end came — when the soft voice ceased and 
48 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 49 


the tired hands were folded for ever — the faithful 
wife was kneeling at her husband’s bedside, alone; 
for she had requested to be left with him to whom she 
had devoted her life. 

She knew the world could never again be the same 
to her. Then she accompanied the beloved remains 
to Arlington. She preferred that he should rest 
there ; for, although the people of his state desired to 
have him rest among them, she felt that he belonged 
to the nation rather than to any single state, and 
that he was entitled to lie in that national resting- 
place of his country’s defenders, among his peers, and 
he had expressed his wish that he might be buried in 
beautiful Arlington, the Nation’s Valhalla. 


CHAPTER IX. 


ETER more than a year of sorrow and lone- 



liness had passed three Western girls were 


jL JL invited by Mrs. Cushman to pay her a long 
visit in Washington. The girls had the greatest ad- 
miration for their hostess. She was the one whom 
they constantly had before them as an example. They 
knew how she had, by dint of perseverance and prin- 
ciple, won for herself a high place in the world. 
When they received her invitation they naturally 
looked forward to their stay in the capital as the 
opening to a new life. One of the three girls in ques- 
tion was the writer of this sketch. 

We had supposed that we were going to live in 
a very quiet house; above all, we had not expected 
to find a number of visitors. What was, therefore, 
our astonishment to find a kind of a family party. 
The visitors were transients, to be sure, but they all 
looked upon the house as their home; the chatelaine 
they regarded as their benefactress. But for the 
evident cleverness of every member of the coterie it 
might have seemed a sort of school — a benevolent in- 
stitution, or a retreat for young persons just about 
to make their plunge into the professional or artistic 
world. Some of the coterie, we learned, had already 
made the plunge, but had been driven back, discour- 
aged, and too tired to struggle. All were treated 
alike, as honored guests; each member of the circle 
contributed his or her quota to the intellectual atmos- 
phere. The mistress of the mansion had the faculty 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 51 


of drawing from every one the best of which he was 
capable. She was, as it were, a queen-director of 
ceremonies. 

At first we were nonplussed, for we had had the 
idea that we were to occupy the center of the stage, 
as we had been accustomed to do at home. We were 
members of a large family, and had been pampered 
by the most indulgent of parents. We were accus- 
tomed to doing what seemed good in our eyes, and, 
in our Western town, to take the lead whenever we 
wanted to; also were used to having others yield to 
our whims. In this big house, with its mixed family, 
we soon learned a very useful lesson — that there were 
others to be considered. It was necessary for us to 
get our bearings, otherwise we found that we should 
constantly be trespassing in forbidden ways, and as 
constantly treading on the toes of others. We had 
not been given to considering this at home. Think 
of three wild Western girls brought to a halt in such 
a manner! It cannot be said that the experience was 
altogether delightful, but it certainly was profit- 
able. 

It is time to tell of our companions. To begin 
with, there was the playwright, described most hap- 
pily by the late Senator Cushman as “the crankiest 
crank in town, and at the same time one of the best 
women living!” She would, with perfect sang froid, 
read aloud from her plays a whole evening. As for 
being insistent, she had been known to follow Mrs. 
Cushman to her bath, still reading, and asking for 
criticism. But she was successful, very clever and a 
beautiful woman; qualities enough to give a woman 


52 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


a right to demand the floor, or the house. This lady 
was from one of the first families in Maryland. 

Era Angelo was a musician; in temperament gen- 
tle, polite and sympathetic. His figure was youthful ; 
his hands beautiful and tapering; his voice soft and 
melodious. Owen Meredith’s line describes him won- 
derfully well: 

“ . . . the good young priest with the Raphael face.” 

Era Angelo was born in Algiers. His mother was 
the daughter of a German father and a Hungarian 
mother, while his own father was of pure Itahan 
blood. Once, when we were discussing the traits of 
the various peoples, and trying to decide who ought 
to be the happiest, he was asked for his opinion. He 
replied : 

“What can you expect of me, of one of my mixed 
blood Such a temperament!” Then he cut his re- 
mark short with his foreign shrug. 

“Why, you are a hard worker,” said one, “and you 
have marked talent. Of course you will succeed and 
be happy.” 

But for six years he had been located in the beau- 
tiful capital, and was regarded as a native. Eor 
that reason he was not encouraged. The good people 
of Washington go after strange gods. The wreaths 
they make are not for native artists. To be most 
brilliantly successful among them one must be a for- 
eigner, or at least an outsider, and must keep that 
atmosphere. Nothing is so inimical to success as be- 
ing recognized as one belonging to the city. Era 
Angelo would have won recognition had he gone 
away and returned with laurels gotten abroad. Then 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 68 


he would have been received with open arms. The 
best way in which to make a reputation in a place is 
to leave it and make a reputation elsewhere first. 

Fra Angelo often came accompanied by his broth- 
er, Italo, a clever, dapper Httle man, who had chosen 
a business career, and was connected with one of the 
largest mercantile houses in Washington. To see 
the practical, thoughtful business man hovering over 
his artist brother when the latter was giving a recital, 
was to understand to the fullest the idea which the 
everyday business world entertains with regard to the 
helplessness and utter lack of ability to do ordinary 
things of the genius. 

Pretty Marian Roslyn would undoubtedly have 
made a success (for she was consumed by ambition) 
had she but had the physical strength to support her 
bright mind. In her livelier moods she was the life of 
the household. Having been reared by a practical 
sister, she had learned something of the stern realities 
of Hfe. She was a brilliant musician, a splendid con- 
versationalist, and charmed all whom she met. Culti- 
vated as she was, she belonged to those people who 
are not easy to class. Although not thoroughly senti- 
mental, she was enough of an artist soul not to be 
entirely practical, and therefore it was difficult for her 
to find her place in the world, where most people can 
be arranged by sample. Lovable Marian was born in 
Nebraska. Her parents were both of good stock, 
but the never-ending battle with Indians, grass- 
hoppers, panic and drought had worn them out; and 
the mother had died before her time. Such is the 
price at which all civilization in the new sections of 


54 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


once wild and wholly unsettled country has been pur- 
chased. Brave men and courageous women go down 
in the struggle, just as men go down in battle. They 
are not defeated, but simply borne down. The re- 
sults of their labors are reaped by those who follow. 
Such should be remembered as the real soldiers of 
the Republic — the winners of not always bloodless 
battles. It was a vast army of men and women pio- 
neers who redeemed the states of Kentucky, Ohio, 
Indiana, Minnesota, Michigan, and the stretch of 
territory which extends to the Pacific Coast. At no 
distant time there should be erected in the National 
Capital a monument to the brave dead who stubbornly 
fought against tremendous odds and wrested this fair 
land from desolation. 

Doctor Warren, born in New York, and reared in 
San Francisco, was one of the dearest of men. He 
had lived in every quarter of the globe. He was a 
cosmopolitan, not in the sense of being a man of no 
country, but in the broader meaning of having been 
polished by contact with men of almost every nation- 
ality, and having profited by what he had seen and 
heard. He was often accompanied by his two sons — 
handsome fellows of nineteen and twenty-one, respect- 
ively. The doctor had written books on his travels, 
had contributed to newspapers, and was in demand 
as a lecturer. He had been alternately rich and poor. 
He had seen life in all its phases, and had learned to 
be neither easily downcast nor elated by trifles. His 
philosophy was sane, and the result of long experi- 
ence. 

Charles Stuart had had quite a marked career on 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 55 


the stage. He was a writer for the Sunday papers, 
his main subject being society. Of course he also 
acted as dramatic critic, for which work he was far 
better fitted than most who pose as critics, and whose 
acquaintance with the stage is limited to being 
friendly with a few chorus girls. The life of the 
capital unfortunately acted as a soporific on him, and 
he made no attempt to get out of the rut, being more 
than satisfied with the easy life he led. He was a 
New Hampshire man. Mrs. Alton, a member of 
the household, had nicknamed Fra Angelo and 
Charles Stuart “The Heavenly Twins,” as they were 
inseparables. 

Miss Comment — musician, author, teacher, and elo- 
cutionist of no mean ability — was one of the success- 
ful ones. She was exceedingly quaint and interest- 
ing. In dress and comportment she reminded one of 
the ladies of Queen Eleanor’s court, as pictured by 
Marion Crawford in “Via Crucis,” except for the 
fact that she did not wear a veil with her peculiar 
costume. The general impression was that she 
thought it would be superfluous. By the other mem- 
bers of the party she was called “the Dresden 
china doll.” She usually wore low-necked dresses, 
cut very square, and short skirts. The colors were 
wonderfully mixed. It was hard for a woman to de- 
scribe them so as to be understood. For a man it 
would have been impossible. Of the fact that she was 
a Bostonian, Miss Comment was, naturally, inordi- 
nately proud. 

Professor Dan and his wife were, in the best sense 
of the term, a lovely couple and were making quite 


56 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


a visit. The Professor had a brilliant record, and 
was in easy circumstances. He was devoting the re- 
maining years of his life to caring for his new wife, 
and, incidentally, to writing the biographies of promi- 
nent men whom he had known intimately. 

Of all the friends of the Senator and Mrs. Cush- 
man who delighted to gather in the famous home of 
this sketch, none was more loyal to the memory of 
the Senator or more devoted to his widow than was 
Professor Dan. He had been the Senator’s young 
manhood teacher, and his Colonel in the war. To the 
day of the Senator’s death the little coterie of bril- 
liant men who had been the Professor’s pupils at dear 
old Carroll College, Wisconsin, never knew a keener 
pleasure than that enjoyed when they now and then 
met in the Washington drawing-room of the brilliant 
Mrs. Cushman. They were, besides the Senator, the 
great Ingersoll; the world-famous translator, Curtin, 
who has made ‘‘Quo Vadis” and other powerful tales 
more beautiful in his own language, according to his 
beloved Sienkiewicz, than they are in the original, 
and Rev. E. Savage, of G. A. R. circles. We girls 
never knew a happier experience than to sit at 
dinner with the three remaining ones of the great 
quintet, as several times we did, while visiting Mrs. 
Cushman. 

Patrick Miller, while not exactly a member of the 
circle, was one of the most frequent visitors, and one 
of the most welcome. Like most of the men, he was 
handsome. The hostess used to say that he was alto- 
gether too handsome for a man; that he resembled a 
big pink rose on a black velvet plaque, so rich was 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 57 


his complexion, so happy the combination of perfect 
health and vigor. For his twenty-four years he had 
seen a great deal of the world, and had had many ex- 
periences. In the Spanish War, through which he 
had served with distinction, he had had adventures 
enough for a knight of the Middle Ages; and hair- 
breadth escapes sufficient to qualify him for the hero 
of a historical romance. Patrick was an Illinoisan. 

With Patrick Miller must be mentioned Edwin 
Dante, who was as frequent a visitor and as welcome. 
He was a native of the Old Dominion, and a gentle- 
man in every sense of the word. For years he had 
been a devoted admirer of Senator Cushman, and a 
close friend of the Senator and his wife. When she 
was left alone Mr. Dante’s devotion to Mrs. Cushman 
and to her interests was absolutely touching. She, 
the piquante beauty, sure of her power over him, 
counted on his long friendship. She continually did 
things to displease him, as does every woman who is 
sure of a man’s devotion and respect. On the occasion 
of one visit, after a little disagreement over the tele- 
phone, he confessed in a stage whisper to Mrs. Alton 
that he considered himself the equal of any hand-kiss- 
ing foreigner, notwithstanding his lack of title. Mrs. 
Alton replied that she had taken Mrs. Cushman to 
task for having so frequently teased one to whom 
she was so much attached, and added : 

“But I told her to keep on teasing you, because you 
are always most amiable when you are put out a little 
and a bit jealous. Do you know you try to hide both, 
and you cannot do it? What do you suppose she 
said?” 


68 THE SENATOR'S SWEETHEART 


“I don’t know,” replied Mr. Dante, trying to look 
unconcerned. 

“Well, she said, ‘Why doesn’t he make a confes- 
sion If he has anything to say, he should not put it 
off. A confession would make him feel better.’” 

The man smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and 
looked across the table, where the subject of discussion 
was in the midst of a very enjoyable flirtation with a 
gay and able man of the world whom he hated with a 
particular hatred. 

Mrs. Alton was sure that the confession would come 
some day. She was anxious that it should; for she 
knew that the handsome widow was waiting for it, 
and hoped that her answer would be favorable. 

The liveliest of the trio of young visitors was Max- 
ine Brenner, a tall and willowy girl, with a Gibson- 
girl face and a Janice Meredith curl. 

Mrs. Alton, the bread-winner of the company, was 
the one about whom it was most difficult to learn any- 
thing. She always declared that she was one of the 
common people, so long had she been compelled to 
work for her living. Her story was at last learned, 
and merits a separate telling. Without it this tale 
of our season in Washington would be incomplete. 



Maxine Brenner 

“One evening at dinner Maxine promised Mrs. Alton to 
join her for a business woman’s luncheon on the 


morrow. 



' « 



CHAPTER X. 


T’S a girl, Anne.” 

I With these words the speaker placed a wee 
JL body of pink flesh, which was swathed in softest 
flannel, in the arms of the young mother. 

The place was a comfortable log cabin on a prairie 
farm, three miles from Nauvoo, Illinois (the old Mor- 
mon settlement, whence the “saints” set out on the 
long journey to the Promised Land about the Great 
Salt Lake). 

The time was a sunny day in April, 186 — . 

Several of the good-hearted women neighbors came 
in late in the day to take charge of the little home. 
Just before they arrived the sister of the young 
mother made her appearance, and it was she who took 
the baby from the cot, where she found it sleeping, 
and placed it by the side of the mother. 

On the same day another baby was bom on the 
same farm, of which more later. 

On a Sabbath morning, a few weeks later, the min- 
ister came, and, surrounded by the families of the 
young parents and several of the neighbors, baptised 
the little one first mentioned. The scene on the prai- 
rie farm was in every respect truly typical of the 
West. The mother sat in her chair of state, like a 
real queen, even although the floor of her home was 
bare, the furniture scarce and rude, and the bril- 
liant May sunshine streamed through windows 
which were draped with nothing but vines and 
flowers. 


59 


60 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


The courtship of Anne Roebuck Willston, of good 
Quaker stock on her mother’s side and of Revolution- 
ary blood on her father’s, had been a topic of interest 
to the entire county. Every one knew of the strong 
opposition of the Willston family to the match. It 
was not considered fitting that Anne Roebuck Will- 
ston should marry Erastus Roslyn, although his blood 
was as good as hers. 

But love laughed at and triumphed over obsta- 
cles, and the handsomest and most popular couple in 
the country managed to get married, and so to please 
themselves. And, after all, the world in general, 
and parents and relatives in particular, are apt to 
forget that it is most desirable that those who marry 
should follow the example set them by their elders 
and please themselves. 

The wedding took place in the big, red-brick 
Willston home, and was attended by the relatives of 
both families. There was not very much cordiality 
displayed then, or for some time afterward, but later 
the birth of the first child served to draw them to- 
gether. Much depended on the baby; for, as in the 
case of many a marriage to which the families of 
both husband and wife have strenuously objected, 
married life had been anything but a bed of roses. 
The father and mother had therefore diplomatically 
agreed that if the baby were a boy he should be 
named William, in honor of his maternal grand- 
father; if a girl, Norma. This was the name of the 
aunt who had placed the baby in the mother^s arms, 
and who acted as godmother. 

The other baby saw the light in a tiny box of a 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 61 


cabin less than a quarter of a mile away from the 
Roslyns’ home. 

When about six years old little Norma, who, by 
that time, was not the only child of the family, was 
sent to school in charge of a nursery-governess named 
Esther. The little red school-house was about half a 
mile away. In the tiny country school Norma was 
looked upon as a little aristocrat, because she was ac- 
companied by the ever-watchful Esther. 

During her short career, as her father was away 
much of the time, Norma, in company with her mother 
and sister, had lived almost entirely among rela- 
tives. She had been so much with older people that 
she was advanced for her years, and was, in addition, 
quite fearless. On her first afternoon in school she 
distinguished herself. As a little boy returned to his 
seat amidst applause for having recited a story from 
“Mother Goose,” the new arrival, who had small re- 
gard for the proprieties of school life, boldly de- 
clared, “I can do that, too !” Being invited to ascend 
the platform, she promptly did so, and managed to 
recite “Mary’s Little Lamb” quite creditably. Her 
exploit made her a great favorite with teacher and 
pupils. 

The terms in the country school were short, and 
the child was far from strong. Owing to a growing 
family and its attendant cares, the mother could not 
give much attention to the most active of her little 
brood. The parents were handicapped by poverty, 
and could provide few advantages for the hungry 
mind in the frail little body of their eldest daughter. 
Even before she went to school, when she was only 


6^ THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


five years old, a book had been given to the child. In 
two days she had committed it to memory ; for, aided 
by her parents and the farm-hands she had already 
learned to read. 

There was no Sunday school in the neighborhood. 
Of visiting between the neighbors, who were widely 
separated from each other, there was little. So the 
childhood of the little one was monotonous, even 
dreary. Her only recreation was an occasional visit 
to her grandparents who lived some miles away. 
Sometimes she had a change in the shape of a term 
at the district school. It would be hard to imagine 
the loneliness of a child reared under such conditions. 
No wonder that one spring day, as Norma stood on 
the chopping-block in the chip-yard, looking over the 
lilacs and plum-trees, toward the forest-screened banks 
of the mighty river which, to her seemed the end of 
her world, she cried out mournfully, “Shall we ever 
go away from here and see anybody or know any- 
thing?” 

A year later and the family had moved westward 
over the Mississippi into their Promised Land, but 
the change, as is so often the case with much-longed- 
for changes, was not for the better. If there had been 
poverty and loneliness on the Illinois farm — no books, 
no advantages, few neighbors and fewer friends — 
the last state was worse than the first. Nine years 
of solitude had made the girl long for more con- 
genial surroundings, which, in Nebraska she did not 
find. On the contrary she found a still more hate- 
ful condition than before. For neighbors there were 
Indians, scouts, soldiers, trappers, and adventurers. 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 63 

Instead of orchard blossoms and lilacs, there were 
never-ending miles of dreary, sea-like, sun-burnt 
prairie, with rarely a tree, and still more rarely a 
flower. Out into that immense wilderness, for gen- 
erations pictured on our maps as the border-land of 
the Great American Desert, went this girl of nine, 
who hungered to see the world, to learn something, 
to go somewhere. 

Early in the seventies her family removed to Platte- 
ville, a town with a population of 400. At that time 
there was no irrigation ; there were no fields of waving 
grain and nodding corn. Although situated on the 
main line of the Union Pacific Railway, which had 
just been completed, Platteville was on a barren 
stretch. The merciless summer sun beat down on a 
limitless grassy plain, which was parched almost to 
burning. Through the baked earth coursed the fickle 
Platte River, which sometimes was a mile wide and a 
foot deep, sometimes nearly as wide as the valley 
which bore its name. Then it was a devastating tor- 
rent which swept all before it. In winter the wild 
winds bore down the valley, moaning or shrieking like 
a soul in distress. 

Before the arrival of his wife and children, Mr. 
Roslyn selected a small house. There they remained 
for two months, during which time Norma attended a 
good school for the first time in her life. It has been 
a rule with Western people to have good schools 
first, and other good things afterwards. At the end 
of two months the family moved into a hotel, and 
that marked the end of home life. 

If there is in this wide world one place more unfit 


64» THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


than another in which to rear children it is a hotel. 
There can be no good home influence in a crowd, in a 
caravansary. Home is for the few, and that few the 
family. Home is the only place in which children 
should be reared. The presence of one stranger will 
spoil the atmosphere. As the Roslyns were running 
the hotel, it was even less of a home to them than to 
their guests. The father was absorbed in his business 
with its excitement and allurements. The mother 
had to leave her children to attend to themselves 
while she attended to the supervising of a large es- 
tablishment and the necessary staff of assistants. 

The girl experienced months of this strange and 
unnatural hotel life. She saw and mixed with army 
officers and cowboys, soldiers, scouts, sheriffs and 
United States marshals and Indians. These were not 
fitting companions for a child of her tender years, 
who should have had playmates and friends of her 
own age and sex. The men referred to moved in 
their course across the field of human activities. 
Sometimes they came alone, sometimes in groups of 
from four to twenty, sometimes in crowds of fifty. 
The more prominent among them had each his per- 
sonal following. All had their marked peculiarities 
in the way of shortcomings and wrongdoings. Their 
lives were most bizarre. They played cards and 
billiards; they drank and indulged in betting; games 
and races appealed to them; shootings occurred not 
infrequently. Their manner of living was lax, and 
the whirl of their lives was often marked by tragedy. 

In that unconventional life on the plains, Norma 
learned much of which the child of Eastern civiliza- 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 65 


tion is ignorant. She bartered with the Indians, trad- 
ing coffee and brown sugar from the hotel kitchen 
for beads, baskets, blankets and moccasins, all the 
handwork of the dusky squaws of the tribes who fre- 
quently passed through the settlement on their way 
to or from their reservations. She learned to shoot 
with bow and arrow, to handle a rifle, to dance in true 
Western fashion, and to play many games of cards. 
Many an evening she danced away with the officers, 
scouts and travellers. On such occasions the big din- 
ning-room was turned temporarily into a ballroom. 
But, fortunately for her, she was not spoiled by her 
odd experiences. She remained the quiet, shy, modest 
girl-woman, burdened with cares which would have 
bent the back of an older person; but as gentle as 
ever, and as easily controlled by her parents as any 
child that ever lived. 

To all who met her she was a constant source of 
interest, but to none more than to the Indian women. 
These dark-skinned, low-browed, slow-moving daugh- 
ters of the western prairies were frequently employed 
in the kitchen and laundry of the hotel. They would 
work from daylight until dark for a quarter, never 
charging more and never taking less. They had 
true Trades-Union ideas, for no amount of persuasion 
could induce them to do a stroke of work after dark. 
Even money would not tempt them. When darkness 
fell, whether a piece of work was finished or not did 
not matter, the Indian woman would leave her work 
and, picking up her dirty, hungry little papoose, 
amble off. The Indian baby was always an accom- 
paniment. It was usually tied flat to a board, on 


66 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


one end of which was a big pocket in which the feet 
rested. At the top of the board was fastened a 
strap which, placed over her forehead, enabled the 
squaw to carry her papoose on her back. The little 
bodies were swathed from head to foot, leaving only 
the head and arms free. So secured, the child was 
after propped up against a wall. The youngsters 
seemed utterly indifferent and stoical. They appar- 
ently did not know that they were being neglected. 
Very rarely was one heard to cry. When able to 
walk they were allowed to run about in the kitchen 
yard and laundry. The boys were not encumbered by 
a shred of clothing. All the same their elders were 
not above stealing the garments of the white children ; 
for what purpose it would be difficult to imagine, un- 
less it was to gratify the natural propensity to steal. 
Your Indian is a born kleptomaniac, and he rarely 
gets over it. 

One evening, as Norma was preparing her little 
nursery flock for bed, she heard a noise in the ad- 
joining room, which made her think that some one 
was jumping in through the window. She looked in, 
but it was too dark to see anything, so imagined that 
she had been mistaken. But a minute later, being 
convinced that her suspicions were well-grounded, 
she again entered the room and asked who was there. 
She was answered by her eldest brother who had slily 
slipped in and was hunting for something to wear. 
When his sister asked him how he came to be in that 
disreputable condition, he answered: 

“Me and Bob and Tommy went in bathing, and 
when we came out of the river we couldn’t find our 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 67 


clothes nowhere. Guess the Indians carried ’em off.” 

His guess was doubtless correct. In any case the 
boy and his chums had to trudge back more than a 
mile to their homes, minus any shred of clothing. 
They waited until dark to steal in, hoping to pass 
unobserved, or to be taken for young Indians, who 
were so often seen about in that dress as to cause no 
comment. 

The society of the frontier-town was thoroughly 
democratic. The social gatherings of Platteville con- 
sisted mostly of gay dances attended by soldiers, 
tradesmen, cattlemen, scouts and citizens; and the 
waitresses and chambermaids of the hotel partici- 
pated as freely as the wives and daughters of the 
settlers. Among the employees of the hotel many 
nationalities were represented. At one time the fol- 
lowing might have been found: a beautiful Norwe- 
gian, Johanna, by name, with a voice like a nightin- 
gale, and who had the reputation of being the most 
graceful dancer ever seen in that section; a Danish 
brother and sister ; a saucy beauty from Belfast, with 
dark hair and eyebrows, blue eyes and fairest skin — 
sunny, witty and roguish ; two Mormon converts from 
Wales, big women of square build, as good as they 
were plain, working for money to carry them to Salt 
Lake City; John, an Indian boy, who carried water 
for the laundry and the kitchen; and a Spaniard, 
who was cook. The last mentioned had formerly been 
in the United States army, from which he had de- 
serted. He also deserted his post at the hotel. It was 
soon after daylight one morning that he learned that 
a body of troops would be in from Fort Sidney on 


68 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


the seven o’clock train, also that there would be a big 
circus in the town the same day. He was in great 
danger; a fact of which he was as well aware as others 
were ignorant. He made his purchases for breakfast, 
as usual ; but when, twenty minutes before train time, 
the manager made his last round through the dining- 
room and kitchen, no cook was to be found. Con- 
' sternation prevailed, for a hotel without a cook was 
“Hamlet” without Hamlet. When the troops arrived 
it was fortunately found that three of the soldiers 
were passably good cooks, and their services were im- 
pressed for the day. Each of them made ten dollars 
for the day’s work. When the soldiers left at night, 
the valiant cook, who had spent the whole day under 
the kitchen floor, emerged and resumed his work as if 
nothing had happened. No questions were asked, 
and the Spaniard doubtless thought that all danger 
had blown over. And so it would have been but for 
the proverbial woman in the case. 

About six weeks afterwards, at the rush hour at 
supper time, a stylishly dressed woman of foreign ap- 
pearance, stepped from the station, and asked for 
Harry Jones. She was told at the desk that there was 
no guest by that name in the house, but that the head 
I cook was called Harry Jones. She registered, was 
assigned a room; and, shortly afterward, stepping 
daintily across the threshold of the big kitchen she 
calmly faced the wily chef. It was learned later that 
she had been following her faithless lover for several 
years. At nine o’clock that evening the beautiful 
Mexican and the Spanish cook were united in the 
bands of holy matrimony in the parlor of the hotel. 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 69 


The lady evidently thought that the knot would not 
be a slip-knot ; and apparently the Spaniard thought 
it better to have his charmer with him than after him. 
Two days later they left for St. Louis, and were 
never heard of again by the hotel people. 

Another episode, and of a far more exciting nature, 
was that of a squaw shooting a gambler. The squaw, 
Matie, had been employed for several weeks in the 
kitchen. She was good-looking, neat and trustworthy. 
Together with the rest of the squaws, she was sub- 
jected to many indignities by some of the whites (of 
the same kind as those who figure in Eastern cities 
as mashers), who would torment them unmercifully 
when they were at work, but who never dared even 
to look at them when they were in their own camps. 
The gambler was a big, handsome brute, and took par- 
ticular delight in teasing the helpless women because 
he thought he was secure from their vengeance. Ma- 
tie was the especial object of his attentions. Her 
mother, who was employed in the laundry, had been 
annoyed by the same individual, and had warned him 
that he had better desist. Then Matie warned him. 
One afternoon Matie’s hair was shining with some kind 
of oil dressing, and her two plaits were covered with 
beads. She wore a new striped shirt, made man 
fashion. Her skirt, which was fashioned out of a 
government blanket, was blue in color, and was so 
sewed together that there was scarcely room enough 
for her full step when she walked. On her shapely 
feet were bran-new moccasins. Of course she was 
proud of herself, as what woman would not have been 
under similar circumstances? As she passed the gam- 


10 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


bier, ten feet from the office door, on her way to the 
helps’ entrance to the hotel yard, he offered her an 
indignity which she could not suffer to go un- 
answered. The woman could stand no more. Quick 
as a flash she snatched his revolver from his hip- 
pocket, and shot him dead. No one troubled to make 
inquiries after him. He was only a gambler, and had 
no friends. Matie calmly went into the hotel yard, 
spoke to the boy John; and, in a few moments she 
left the hotel, accompanied by her mother. After a 
few words with the cooks, the boy also left. Not one 
of the three was ever seen again in that community. 
The Indian camp was searched, but nothing could 
be learned there. No arrests were made, and in a 
few days the whole affair was forgotten. 

At the end of a year of hotel life, Mr. Roslyn 
moved with his family to the northwest. The party 
struck out from the line of the railroad, and travelled 
in wagons. They were prompted simply by the am- 
bition of state building. At that time Nebraska had 
been a state for a few years only. During the sum- 
mer that ended Mr. Roslyn’s year in the Platteville 
hotel, he, with several others, had formed a partner- 
ship and completed plans to move on and open up the 
country. 

The party travelled for three days. The first night 
was spent in a crowded, half -finished hotel in a little 
Danish settlement at the forks of the Wolf River. 
The people were glad to be allowed to take a pillow 
and blanket and lie on the floor. It was the only ac- 
commodation they could get. The second night was 
spent in a sod house. The third evening the travellers 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 71 


sighted the little settlement of Midvale — then in un- 
organized territory, now Somers county. 

Midvale was situated in a virgin valley, from three 
to four miles across, through which flowed a beautiful 
river whose banks were dotted with cottonwood trees. 
Beyond river and trees, as far as the eye could see, 
rose stately hills which lent a grandeur to the scene. 
From one of the groves down in the valley, close to the 
river, a column of smoke from the engine of a saw- 
mill rose straight up in the evening air. The settle- 
ment consisted of seven log houses, their low roofs 
rising but httle above the top of the corn. Soon all 
the settlers were crowding about the wagons welcom- 
ing the newcomers, who were provided with a good 
supper and a clean and comfortable resting place for 
the night. 

Early the following morning every member of the 
settlement, including the newcomers, was astir. The 
arrivals of the previous evening had brought new 
life, not only by reason of their numbers, but be- 
cause the party included three of the original or- 
ganizers of the settlement. All day long the sound 
of hammer and saw could be heard, and the work of 
building houses for the newcomers was rushed on. 

With the organizers on the ground, and their 
agents active in the Eastern communities, a tide of 
immigration soon set in toward the Wolf valley. 
Bridges were built, school houses were provided, and 
a court house was soon planned. County organization 
was effected — the county seat being located in the 
only settlement in existence; an election of officers 
was held, and mail service was established. Before 


n THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


long contractors were in the field; and stage, express 
and freight lines were opened with the town from 
which the early settlers had set out, some sixty miles 
away. 

Then it was decided that a newspaper was the one 
thing needful. A bonus was offered to whomever 
should set up the first press and issue the first news- 
paper. The County Clerk, who was shrewd, profited. 
He secured the services of three bright young news- 
paper men ; and, having announced himself as editor, 
and thus obtained the bonus, he got a paper out with 
all dispatch. A full history of the settlement and 
organization of the county was given in the first num- 
ber of the Times, as the journal was called, and 
therewith a short biographical sketch of nearly every 
man in the county. The first white child born in the 
county was awarded the honor of a special article. 
The young mother was similarly favored. The first 
death, the first sermon preached, and similar events, 
were duly, decorously and lengthily recorded. 

On leaving Platteville, Mr. Roslyn had thoughts of 
going into the cattle-raising business, and at the same 
time resuming his work as contractor and builder. 
But first of all he determined to provide a comfortable 
house for his family on a farm adjoining the town 
site. With this Mrs. Roslyn did not agree. She 
liked the stir and bustle of hotel life, and she insisted 
that they must have a hotel. Of course the woman 
had her way, and a hotel was erected. In this hotel 
was given the banquet which celebrated the issue of 
the first number of the Times, Everybody in that 
section was invited. It was necessary to make a big 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 73 

affair of it in order to have material for the following 
issue of the paper, the first number having contained 
all that had happened in the past, or was likely to 
happen for some months to come. It was at the 
dance which followed the banquet that Norma met her 
lover, who became such the moment he saw her receiv- 
ing attentions from another. 

Captain Marshall, young as he was, had been 
through the war. On being mustered out of the 
army, having no fixed home of his own, he had joined 
a party westward-bound. Since that time he had been 
scouting the plains, sometimes alone, sometimes in 
company with regular travellers. In the unsettled 
parts of the country they had very often to turn 
Indian fighters. On one of his trips West he had 
stopped at the hotel at Platteville. He and Mr. Ros- 
lyn became close friends. When he met Norma he fell 
in love with her promptly, child though she was. He 
remained at the hotel for a long time; and when the 
move was made to northwest, he left the party with 
which he was connected and joined the Wolf River 
contingent. 

He formed a partnership with a young Kentuckian, 
and together they built and opened a large store. 
Captain Marshall was popular and had the distinction 
of being elected the first sheriff of the county, while 
his partner tried hard to comport himself in con- 
sonance with his dignity of probate judge. 

Although, during the months which had elapsed, 
the affairs of the settlement had been moving with 
the customary Western rush, the Captain’s interest 
in Norma Roslyn had not abated one jot. He grew 


745 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


more and more devoted, and in every way tried his 
best to win the girl’s love. But he had not succeeded 
in awakening her interest in him ; nor could he flatter 
himself that he had received the slightest encourage- 
ment from her. He thought that it might be due 
to the fact that her life was so hard, and that she had 
not time to think about love. As a matter of fact the 
toil of Mrs. Roslyn and the girl, although they occa- 
sionally had outside help, was almost beyond their 
endurance. Captain Marshall on several occasions 
took it upon himself to remonstrate with the mother 
for allowing Norma to work beyond her strength. He 
also regarded that as a favorable opportunity to 
show his interest in the girl — a proprietary interest, 
as it were. 

Mrs. Roslyn looked upon him with favor. So did 
her husband. Therefore Captain Marshall had two 
valuable allies, and all that was left for him to do 
was to win the girl herself. The question which 
troubled him was. Could he do it? She gave no sign 
that she cared for him, but he was relieved to see that 
she did not seem to care for anyone else; and so for 
the time he felt that he was safe. She was only a 
child in years, although she was a woman in appear- 
ance and ability, and he felt that he could afford to 
play a waiting game. He failed to realize that her 
moment of awakening had not yet come; that when 
it did come, his waiting would have been of no avail. 

She was, in fact, at that period when, at any mo- 
ment, in the twinkling of an eye, the young soul 
might awake to the meaning of its yearning. But he 
was firm in the faith that he would win her, and that 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 75 


although no word of love had passed his lips. He 
failed to realize that she turned to him simply with 
any tale of interest or any of her affairs, and talked 
with him as she would talk to her father, or to any 
other man of their close acquaintance. She danced 
with him, rode horseback with him, went with him a 
few times to his homestead, two miles away where he 
was building a somewhat pretentious farmhouse. But 
all this she did simply because there was no reason 
why she should not — not because there was any par- 
ticular reason why she should. Any unbiased out- 
sider would have seen at a glance that the girl had 
no thoughts of love, and that no man, as yet, figured 
in her calculations. Such was the state of affairs on 
the night of the banquet. 

Captain Marshall entered the room just after the 
dancers for the first number had taken their places, 
and, to his great surprise found Norma at the side of 
the young associate editor, one of the three strangers 
who had arrived two weeks before to help to set up 
the press and launch the newspaper, of which the 
appearance was being celebrated. The Captain had 
not thought it necessary to ask Norma to reserve the 
first or any other dance for him. So he could not 
reasonably feel any chagrin that the girl had ac- 
cepted the invitation of another. He passed around 
to where her mother was sitting and by her was 
greeted laughingly with: 

‘‘You have lost your girlie!” 

Presently Wayne Alton, the young editor, led his 
partner back to her mother, and seating her, bowed 
his thanks for the dance and left the room. In an 


76 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


instant Captain Marshall was by her side. No word 
was said. The girl noticed nothing unusual in his 
face. And, as she was not thinking about him, did 
not even suspect that he was put out. Later they 
danced together, and then went out for a short stroll 
in the wonderful moonlight that was flooding the 
peaceful valley. Accidentally they stumbled upon 
Mr. Alton, who, later in the evening again danced 
with Norma. 

Captain Marshall’s jealousy was aroused. He flung 
himself upon his bed, and for hours tossed about in 
the vain endeavor to get to sleep. Mrs. Roslyn’s 
jesting “You have lost your girlie!” rang in his ears 
unceasingly, and with a deeper meaning than it had 
been intended to convey. 

And every time he heard it his hatred of Wayne 
Alton grew deeper. 


CHAPTER XII. 


I N the quiet twilight of the day following the 
banquet, Captain Marshall called on Norma and 
asked her to go out on the porch. He went out 
there and left her to follow when she had finished a 
matter which needed her attention. On joining him, 
the girl took a seat on the low broad railing. Rest- 
ing her head against a column, she placed her feet 
on a low chair. 

“Are you comfortable?” asked the Captain, and 
there was a tone of solicitude in his voice. 

“Quite comfortable, thank you. Captain,” she an- 
swered. 

“Then it must be for the first time since I have 
known you, and that is now almost two years,” he 
observed. 

The note of sympathy in his voice was unmistak- 
able, and the girl’s eyes filled with tears as she looked 
up quickly into the strong face beside her. Then 
she was startled to notice the intense earnestness of 
his expression. His lips were quivering; his eyes 
were bright with a tender light which she had never 
before seen there. Before another word was spoken, 
she was conscious that, at her side stood a man who 
was anxious to make her whole life happy. 

In his strong hands he took her toil-worn ones 
and as he, unreproved, caressed them, he said, in the 
tenderest voice the child had ever heard : 

“Norma, my dear child, I cannot endure seeing you 
kill yourself by inches as you have been doing for 

77 


78 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


so long. I have spoken to your father and mother 
several times, and have told them that it should not 
be permitted. But I don’t see that you work any 
less than you did in Platteville, in fact, I think you 
have still more to do. You cannot keep on like this. 
It would kill you outright. Won’t you let me help 
you.^ I have plenty of money and can do for you 
whatever you would like. I should like to give you 
an education.” 

There was a pause during which the girl thought 
hard. Finally she said: 

‘T am very grateful to you. Captain, for your 
generous offer, but I cannot accept it. You see, my 
father is the one to pay for my education. He 
doesn’t seem inclined to do so. If he will not I can- 
not take it from anyone else. I shall find a way in 
good time. As you say I cannot go on in this slavery 
for ever. I must get away from these surroundings, 
for I cannot bear the strain much longer. But I 
simply couldn’t take money from you. Captain. 
That would never do. . . . Do not think me 

ungrateful,” she added quickly, noticing the shadow 
which passed over her admirer’s face; “but you see 
I simply couldn’t take the money from you.” 

“But a way could be found in which you could 
take it, Norma. I don’t want to give it to you as a 
charity. I do not want to give you an allowance. 
I want to give you all that I have, as your right. Be 
my wife. Then all that I have will be yours, just 
as much as mine. You want an education. You 
want to get away from here ; you want to travel, and 
to see the world. You would be able to foUo^v all 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 79 


your fancies if you were my wife. For a long time 
your sufferings have been mine. I have tried to 
show my sympathy, but you have held me at arms’ 
length. You must know that I love you — ^that you 
are all the world to me, and have been since I first 
saw you. Say that you will marry me, and make 
me the happiest man you have ever seen.” 

The intense earnestness and sincerity of the man 
was very soothing to Norma’s perturbed spirit. So 
far he had won the battle. But like so many men, he 
did not know that he should press his advantage. 
Thousands of men have lost the girl whom they 
loved, and sometimes the girl who loved them, by 
standing still when they should have gone forward. 
Just as many have lost the favor of girls by being 
too insistent when they should have kept still. Cap- 
tain Marshall ought to have folded Norma in his 
arms, instead of which he stood at her side respect- 
fully, holding her hands in his, his eyes resting upon 
her appealingly. For the moment the girl longed to 
be taken in the strong man’s embrace, to feel herself 
at rest and sheltered. The knowledge that she was 
loved so earnestly, that she had been offered shelter 
from the world, was very sweet to her. The Cap- 
tain, however, remained motionless, and the girl’s 
love escaped him for ever. 

Love, being unpinioned, fled. Then the thought 
suddenly flashed across the girl’s mind that she could 
not thus sell her liberty, herself — not to gain the 
whole world. For a few moments the temptation was 
great. It was one to which many thousands, who 
had not so much to gain, have yielded. But Norma 


80 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


was not only very sane — in addition she had too much 
self-respect. 

She looked beyond him, looked away from his 
earnest face which pained her, across to the pretty 
white house, two miles away, where he lived. The 
view was not uninviting, and to most girls in her po- 
sition the prospect would have been too alluring. 

But she answered: 

“Dear friend, if I were to marry you, I should be 
as much a prisoner up there, in the prettiest home in 
the valley, as I am a slave here. In mind I should 
be even more of a slave. No, Captain, I cannot marry 
you. I am too young to marry, anyhow. I must 
get an education first. And I want to see something 
of the world, too. I am too ignorant. I want to 
get out of this dreary old corner. It is very hard to 
be cooped up here — very hard.” 

Her bosom heaved and her lips trembled as she 
withdrew her hands from his, where they had been 
resting. She made a motion, as if to slip from the 
ledge on which she was sitting. She wanted to go 
away from him, for, woman-like, not loving him, his 
presence just then was not desirable. 

“Don’t go yet, Norma,” he pleaded; don’t run 
away from me yet!” And holding her gently by 
the wrists he kept her perched on the ledge, just as 
he wanted to keep her out of the sordid world in 
which she was wasting her youth. 

“It is hard, indeed, Norma. It is hard. Would it 
be so hard, do you think, if you were mine.?* Why 
cannot you trust me.^^ Have I not shown how much 
I love you, how your welfare is near to my heart 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 81 


Have I given you any reason to be afraid of me? 
Have you no love for me — not a little? I don’t ask 
you to love me as I love you. You have not had the 
time to think of me that I have had to think of you. 
If you love me ever so little now, I will teach you 
to love me more. And in any case I shall be satisfied, 
for I love you enough for two. I know how un- 
^^PPy you are here. How can you prefer this slav- 
ish life here to a quiet home with me? Come away 
from here, Norma, and have a happy home of your 
own. You have been in slavery long enough. It is 
your duty to yourself to get out of this atmosphere. 
And think, too, how many long, weary years it has 
been since I knew what it was to have a real home.” 

As she did not reply to his urgent pleading, the 
Captain’s tone changed. 

“If you do not love me, is it because you love 
somebody else?” he asked. “Do you prefer another 
man? Have you anybody else in mind?” 

“No, no; it’s not that at all. Captain. I do not 
care for anybody else. But I simply cannot do as 
you wish, because I do not care for you even, as I 
should want to care for the man whom I married. 
I am sorry to say this, but I must be honest, and it 
would not be honest to you to marry you if I did 
not want to. Please don’t talk about it any more. I 
am very sorry for your sake that I cannot give you 
the answer you want, but I simply cannot, and there 
is the end of it. If we talk any more about it, it will 
be all the more painful both to you and to me; and 
I know that you do not want to give me pain. Please 
leave me now. I want to be alone.” 


8^ THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


But with man’s incomprehensible, ill-placed obsti- 
nacy he made another charge. 

“Only give me the right, Norma, and I will place 
you in the best school in the land. Then when you 
have gotten all the education you want, we will travel 
all over the world. If you like we will travel all the 
year round.” Then he made the mistake of trying 
to take her in his arms. This she resented with some 
show of feeling. She was no longer a child, but a 
woman; and that woman the Captain had aroused. 
He had not gained a wife, but he had caused Norma 
to be on her guard against his advances. She honest- 
ly liked the man. She admired him greatly. She 
was sorry for him. She judged from the pain it had 
given her to refuse him, how much he must suffer 
in being refused, and wishing to tone down the im- 
pression of hardness which she feared she had left 
in his mind, she offered him her hand, saying: 

“It is too bad. Captain; and believe me, I am as 
sorry as I can be that this has happened. But I 
cannot do otherwise than as I have done. And if the 
same question were asked me a thousand times my 
answer would be the same. So it is of no use trying 
to get me to alter my mind. I cannot marry you. 
That is final. Now I must go in.” 

So finally he realized that his pleading had had 
no effect; that she cared for him as a friend only, 
that if he cared to keep that friendship he would 
have to avoid trying to coax her to love him. 

He was almost staggered at what he considered 
the lack of feeling shown by the girl whom he so 
blindly adored; nevertheless, he took her hand be- 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 83 


tween his, and for a moment pressed it warmly. (It 
is strange that a man always considers a girl who 
does not respond to his love cold-hearted. ) Although 
he was chagrined and baffled, he had a higher opinion 
than ever of her; and more determined was he than 
ever, not to lose her. He longed to make another 
attempt to turn the tide of defeat even then. He 
wanted to take her in his arms — to compel her to 
understand what a fatal mistake she was making in 
refusing him; to insist that she should at least take 
back her answer and give herself more time for con- 
sideration — give him his answer in a week — in short, 
the Captain felt just like every other man who has 
loved in vain, and who, having been rebuffed, still 
loves, if anything, more intensely than before. It was 
the trial of his life. Her courage almost unmanned 
him. Finally he gained control of his feelings. Plac- 
ing his hands on her head, and bending over her, he 
chivalrously kissed her brow, again and again. As 
she turned to leave him he caught her with one arm 
around her waist, and whispered : 

“Good bye, dear. Some day you will be mine.” 

From that hour Norma was changed. She had al- 
tered from a girl of fourteen to a woman. Although 
Captain Marshall had lost the girl he had loved, he 
had at least been the first to discover the woman — 
he had as it were discovered her to herself. Toward 
him Norma’s heart was very tender. She was grateful 
to him for his love of her, for his sympathy. She 
even thought that possibly her feelings towards him 
might change with time; and she determined, in that 
case, to go to him and tell ‘him frankly. 


84 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


Some time after the events chronicled, learning 
that there was to be a school in the town, Norma asked 
her father: 

“Am I to be allowed to go to school?” 

He was startled. He had thought, as do so many 
parents, but little of his duty towards his children. 
The girl, he remembered, had been to school very 
little. He had scarcely thought of the necessity. 
She had seemed so much a woman. She had been so 
useful, so necessary about the hotel. He remembered, 
too, that for a girl, she had always seemed so very 
curious, so exceedingly anxious to know whatever 
could be told her. So, being aroused to a sense of 
his duty, he talked the matter over with his wife, 
and it was decided to obtain outside help, so as 
to allow their daughter to go to school as she 
desired. 

Some weeks after, a fine-looking, well-dressed man 
alighted from the stage, and entered the hotel. His 
dress, manner, and evident refinement distinguished 
him from the rest of the passengers. Norma was not 
at all surprised when she learned that he was Pro- 
fessor Maynard, of Cleveland, who had been appoint- 
ed the first teacher of the school. He was a young 
man, and a few months later was joined by his 
wife. The couple had only been married for a short 
time. 

First of all they organized a Sunday school. 
Norma attended and quickly caught the attention of 
Mrs. Maynard, who noticed the intense eagerness of 
the girl to learn. When the day school was opened, she 
was one of the first pupils, and one of the most desir- 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 85 


able and diligent. Learning under what disadvant- 
ages she had labored, Mrs. Maynard took all the 
more interest in her pupil, and invited her to her 
house. There was much which appealed to Norma — 
books and magazines, pictures, sympathy, interest 
and quiet. Years afterward, when time had powdered 
her beautiful crown of hair, Mrs. Maynard, in her 
larger home in her own State, listened in open-eyed 
astonishment when Norma said: 

“It is true, my dearest friend, quite true, that in 
all my wanderings, which have been many, in cottage, 
mansion and palace, I have never felt the same sense 
of being at home as I did in that little teacher’s cot- 
tage in the western valley. It was, and remains, my 
ideal — the one true, perfect, earthly home. It was 
there that my ambition was aroused and stimu- 
lated.” 

The relation of pupil and teacher is the most beau- 
tiful. In this case a cultured woman, a happy young 
wife, made her home in a Nebraska settlement, be- 
cause of her husband’s frail health. She was quite 
happy, and exercised a wholesome influence upon her 
pupils. The good she did was unlimited. 

The Maynards had thought that a few years in 
the pure, dry climate of Nebraska might rehabilitate 
the Professor’s shattered health. So they settled 
down without weakening regrets. In addition to 
teaching. Professor Maynard bought cattle and did 
a little other trading. Norma was quite the friend of 
the family. 

During these months Norma had often been invited 
by Mr. Alton to attend parties, picnics and to go for 


86 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 

h 

a stroll or a drive. But she was never able to spare 
time. She was devoted to books and household duties. 
She was alike to all men. Her shyness and her un- 
willingness to mix with her fellows was beginning to 
cause concern to her friends. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


M rs. ROSLYN, as well as Norma was suf- 
fering severely from the continued strain of 
trying to do much more than her strength 
would allow; and after a while it became necessary 
to obtain further help, in order that the mother, as 
well as the daughter, might take a much-needed rest. 
With her latest baby, Mrs. Roslyn went away to visit 
relatives for a few months’ quiet and change. While 
visiting she had a strange experience, such as few 
mothers ever have. 

One bitterly cold winter morning a messenger ap- 
peared at the house where Mrs. Roslyn was staying. 
He was laboring under great excitement, and gasped 
that he had been sent for Mrs. Roslyn. Dame Chan- 
ler, who was lying at the point of death, and who 
could not possibly last long, had heard that Mrs. 
Roslyn was visiting in her old home neighborhood, 
and was anxious to see her, or she could not die in 
peace. If Mrs. Roslyn would get ready, added the 
messenger, he would drive her over to see the old 
lady, as he had his sleigh standing at the door. 

Less than a quarter of a mile away, on the river 
bank there stood a little log cabin, just as it had stood 
for twenty years. From the cabin in question one could 
have shot an arrow into the home where Norma had 
been baptized. It was to the cabin that Mrs. Roslyn 
was driven. 

Reaching the bedside of the dying woman, she 
stooped over and said: 


87 


88 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


“Here I am, Granny. I heard that you wanted to 
see me and that you had something to tell me. What 
is it that you want to say.^^ Is it something I can do 
for you.'^” 

The old woman did not seem cheered to see her 
visitor, but she was evidently relieved. Brokenly she 
said: 

“I wanted to see you, Mrs. Roslyn. I have wanted 
to see you for a long time. You can’t do anything 
for me except listen to me. I have often thought of 
writing to you, but I never could bring myself to it. 
I am very ill now, and I cannot live long; so I must 
make a full confession. It is a cruel story for you to 
hear.” 

With this she paused a while for breath. The two 
women eyed each other, one wondering what the con- 
fession could be, the other wondering how it would 
be taken. For the older woman the younger had 
always entertained a very sincere affection, which, 
she had thought was reciprocated. The story of the 
dying woman ran as follows: 

“Anne, I have done you a great wrong — you and 
yours. At the time I did not see clearly how great 
a wrong it was. I cannot ask your forgiveness. It is 
too great a crime for that. Only God can pardon 
me for it.” 

Then she stopped while her visitor tried to calm 
her, saying that she was sure that Granny Chanler 
never did a great wrong to anybody, and that it 
must be a matter of an over-sensitive conscience. In 
fact, Mrs. Roslyn thought that the old lady must 
be delirious, and that it would be better to treat her 


THE SENATOR'S SWEETHEART 89 


as a child and humor her, so as to soothe her dying 
moments. It was some minutes before the story could 
be resumed. When she had once again started, 
Granny forced herself to tell it all. Here is the story 
as she slowly and distinctly gave it : 

“Late in the afternoon of the day before your 
child was born, there came to my cabin a very beauti- 
ful woman with a face so sad that it made my heart 
ache to see it. I could see at a glance that she was 
soon to be a mother. Strange to say she was alone 
and footsore. Her manner was that of a refined wom- 
an of the world. She begged me to let her rest awhile, 
saying that she had relatives near and was going to 
them. She told me that her husband was in the army. 
My heart ached for the poor creature. She was so 
sad, so lonely, and so calm and dignified. It was an 
experience of a lifetime. Night came on. The 
beautiful creature remained motionless on the lounge. 
Not a word did she speak for some hours. When I 
brought her some supper, she seemed very grateful, 
and tried to eat a little. Later a terrific storm came 
up. The wind raged and tore, and the rain came in 
torrents. The storm was very distressing to the suf- 
fering woman. Her situation was pitiful, and I was 
well-nigh helpless. I passed a terrible night. 

“Early in the forenoon of the following day her 
child was born. After a while I held it before the 
mother. For one moment as she looked into its help- 
less little face her eyes brightened, and her face 
grew more beautiful than anything I had ever seen 
in the world before, or have ever seen since. Then 
she closed her tired eyes, which she never again 


90 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


opened in this world. She had suffered until her 
heart was broken, and she lay dead, in this cabin, a 
stranger. 

‘T was alone with the dead and the baby when a 
messenger came to me, and fetched me over to see 
you. I knew that you were without assistance and 
needed me. She needed me no longer, so I went over 
to you. You were alone. The man who had come 
for me had gone to fetch your sister. I wrapped the 
baby up as warmly as I could in the best I had, and 
carried it over with me. You remember how dis- 
tressed you were at being left alone at such a time. 
You know you suffered very severely. I do not think 
you ever knew when your child was born. You never 
knew that your child was still-born, Anne. The 
little stranger, whom I had taken with me, I placed 
on your bed. When your sister came she at once 
paid attention to it. I did not think clearly of what 
I was doing. It did not seem wrong to me then. 
You must remember I was worn out with the terrible 
experience of the night before, when I had not been 
able to sleep. And I was worrying about the poor 
woman whom I had left dead in my cabin, about 
you, and your poor dead baby. No wonder that I 
was not able to think clearly! I was really calmed 
for a moment when I found the living baby at your 
side. It seemed just as it should be. And I asked 
myself the question, “Why not.?^” It seemed cruel 
to let you know of your loss, and not at all necessary. 
Besides I was heartily sorry for the living baby, and 
very much worried as to what I should do with it. 
I was too poor to be able to keep it. I had no idea 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 91 


how I could find the father — perhaps he would never 
be found. I managed to tell your sister about my 
charge in the cabin here, but I did not tell her that 
the woman was dead — I did not dare to use the word 
in your presence. When I left I carried the dead 
baby with me. 

“The story of the woman’s death came out, as you * 
remember, and she and the baby were buried in the 
same coffin. Every one thought that the baby was 
hers. It was not. It was yours, Anne. But no one 
else knows that Norma is not your daughter. Your 
own baby rests with the beautiful, unfortunate 
stranger. These things are all I have to give you be- 
longing to the child who, you thought, was your 
own daughter.” 

With these words Granny took from under her pil- 
low and handed to Mrs. Roslyn a patched and faded 
marriage certificate and a miniature framed in pearls. 

Mrs. Roslyn took the articles in question, and for 
some time sat looking at them without saying a single 
word. The sick woman, too, remained quiet. It was 
a strange and trying situation. 

After a time Mrs. Roslyn asked if any efforts had 
been made to find the relatives of the stranger imme- 
diately after her death; if Granny had endeavored 
to locate the father of the baby. Mrs. Chanler told 
her all that had been done. A careful record of the 
woman’s death and burial had been made, and the 
grave marked “Unknown.” Law officers had tried 
to find some one bearing either of the names given 
on the marriage certificate, but in vain. It was at 
the close of the war that the incident had occurred. 


92 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


and the difficulties of finding out anything were 
almost insurmountable. In fact, as is at the present 
day the case in some States in the Union when a 
murder has been committed, no trace could be 
found. 

Mrs. Roslyn never referred to the interview, nor 
was she aware that it had been overheard by another. 

Shortly after Mrs. Roslyn had left home to pay 
her visit, Mr. Roslyn was called away on business. 
While thus comparatively alone, Norma fell ill. She 
was in a dreadful predicament — ill and alone in a 
small town which had neither railroad nor telegraph 
facilities. The duty of caring for her seemed to de- 
volve naturally upon Captain Marshall, the oldest 
and closest friend of the family. He summoned a 
doctor, and himself took charge of the sick room. He 
deputed the eldest of the other sisters to take care 
of the rest of the family. As Norma was very ill, she 
was dependent upon the Captain. Her manner to- 
ward him changed perceptibly, to his great delight. 
By the time her father returned, she was in her 
usual health. With returned health her manner 
toward the Captain was as before her illness. 

The Captain had been cast about from hope to 
despair, and decided to make another attempt to 
win the girl, thinking that his chances had improved. 
He made the effort, and again proposed to her. Her 
answer was the same as before — she would not marry 
him; she would not marry anybody; she had no 
thoughts of marrying. This time the Captain was 
convinced that he had no chance to win her. He had 
played the game and had lost. As living near her 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 95 

would have been torture he left the town, thinking to 
find forgetfulness at a distance. 

Norma Rosljn had been wonderful as a child; as a 
young woman she was brave and resourceful. When 
Captain Marshall left her after his last attempt to 
get her to change her mind, she sat for a long time 
thinking matters over, and trying to arrange some 
plan of action. She saw clearly that she could not 
continue to lead the life that she was then leading — 
so cramping, so unsatisfactory. She had to confess 
to herself, to her sorrow and shame, that her mother 
seemed indifferent to her, while her father was just 
as thoughtless about her welfare. All the same she 
made up her mind that she must ask her father to 
help her get away ; and that, if he refused, she would 
go away and would make her way in the world un- 
aided. 

Casting about for some one to whom to turn, she 
bethought her of Mrs. Maynard, and resolved to go 
to her for advice. Never did a helpless girl have a 
wiser friend. Mrs. Maynard had often puzzled over 
the strange indifference displayed by Mr. and Mrs. 
Roslyn to the mental and religious welfare of their 
large family of bright children. Neither of the par- 
ents seemed to realize the danger of the family grow- 
ing up in that wild, western life, not one of them 
equipped in education or manual training for any 
calling whatever, not one fitted to be anything but a 
hewer of wood and a drawer of water. 

She advised the girl to study systematically, and 
as much as possible; and promised to aid her by giv- 
ing her instruction two or three times a week. This 


94 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


plan, properly pursued for a time, would, said Mrs. 
Maynard, enable her to pass the required examina- 
tion to secure a teacher’s certificate. She could then 
obtain charge of a small school. That would make it 
possible for her to support herself, and at the same 
time study so as to fit herself for better positions as 
they presented themselves. 

The following summer the town boomed, conse- 
quently the hotel was busier than ever before, and 
Norma’s work was even heavier. As her father was so 
prosperous the girl thought that he would be sure to 
fulfil his promise, and send her to school in Septem- 
ber. 

Being fond of company, Mrs. Roslyn established 
the custom of quilting-bees. At one of them she told 
the story of an old Friend who was noted in his neigh- 
borhood as being wealthy. In addition he was the 
father of several daughters. When one of them had 
prospects of marrying, he would announce that, on 
the wedding-day he would give her a cheque for a 
thousand dollars — or more according to his pleasure. 
Mr. Alton entered the room just as Mrs. Roslyn 
finished the story, and heard only, “When my daugh- 
ter marries, I shall give her a thousand dollars or 
more. It will depend on how pleased I am with the 
man.” So Mr. Alton, thinking that he had a good 
opportunity, said laughingly, “I am worth a thou- 
sand dollars as a son-in-law, I am sure. I will hunt 
up Miss Norma right now, and will see if I cannot 
make an arrangement with her.” 

As he turned to leave the room to go on his search, 
he confronted Norma herself, who had just entered. 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 95 


As she had not heard enough of what was said to 
understand, she blushed and was covered with con- 
fusion when she heard her name, and the laughter 
which followed Mr. Alton’s sally. 

Annoyed, she left the room, Mr. Alton going after 
her. He did not know how much she had heard of 
his untimely remark, but suspected that he had of- 
fended her by his freedom, and so apologized for 
his levity, saying that her mother’s gaiety had given 
him the courage to declare himself boldly. Thus does 
man always find some woman on whose shoulders he 
can place his faults. 

Norma, still confused, and not knowing exactly 
what he was talking about, was puzzled by his con- 
versation. Suddenly she broke in with: 

“Of whom are you speaking I don’t understand 
you.” 

He pinched her cheek playfully, and looking into 
her eyes, answered: 

“Norma, your mamma has just declared her will- 
ingness to accept me for a son-in-law. Now it’s your 
turn. Are you willing.'^” 

Quite composedly she replied: 

“Why, mamma hasn’t any girls old enough to 
marry !” 

“But aren’t you her daughter 

“Yes ; but then ” 

“ ‘But when,’ not ‘but then,’ Norma. ‘When?’ 
That is the question.” 

“What are you talking about? You know I never 
could understand your jokes. But then I am so 
stupid.” 


96 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


“This is no joke, my dear girl. It is solid earnest. 
Really one of us must be a little stupid if, after all 
these months, you do not know that I am in earnest 
when I say I love you. Am I such a joker that I 
have failed to make you understand that.? Do you 
never take me to be in earnest.?” 

“Never.” 

“Have you never thought that I have been in love 
with you ever since the first night I met you?” 

“Why, no. Certainly not. The idea has never 
entered my head.” 

“Not for a moment, even?” 

“Never at all.” 

“Then I must say that I am stupid. Stupid isn’t 
strong enough. Do you mean to say that I have 
failed to win your love when I have been giving you 
mine all this time? That’s odd. You seem to like 
my company, and seem happiest when you are with 
me. Why do you care so much to be with me if you 
do not love me?” 

“Why, simply because you are such good company, 
so entertaining, so amusing, Mr. Alton. I learn so 
much from you. And then you always make me 
merry. You know life is dull here, and you always 
make it brighter. So, it was only to be expected that 
I should like your company. But I never thought 
about loving you — or anybody else, for the matter 
of that. I have had more serious things to think 
about.” 

“But you will think of love for me now, won’t you, 
Norma? I want you to love me, to be my wife.” 

“It is all so strange. I do not want to marry. It 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 97 


isn’t in my thoughts. I am glad to be friends with 
you, Mr. Alton. Can’t we be friends, as we have 
been; just friends, and nothing more.? It would be 
so much pleasanter. It is not nice for me to think 
that, because I am friendly with a man, he is thinking 
of marrying me, and fancies that I am thinking of 
marrying him. You see I am very young yet, and 
am inexperienced. I wonder that you ever thought 
of marrying me. I don’t think that I am old enough 
yet to be a wife. I know that I do not know enough.” 

It was evidently of no use to talk love and mar- 
riage to a girl who retained her composure, and who 
showed no more feeling than if she were discussing 
some subject in which she was not at all interested. 
Either she did not or would not understand; and 
either case was equally unfavorable to Mr. Alton. 
Finally he said: 

“Well, I will wait, Norma. I cannot give up the 
thought of marrying you, for it has been in my mind 
for so long; and, to tell the truth, I really thought 
that you were favorably disposed toward me. StiU 
I am not going to whine, or to beg you to say you 
feel what you do not feel. I am disappointed, but 
I am not discouraged. In due time you will feel 
otherwise toward me, I hope.” 

At that moment the conversation was interrupted 
by the breaking in of four of the guests who were in 
search of Mr. Alton. He was always popular on 
such occasions, being looked upon as the life of the 
party. 

Mr. Alton sought systematically to get as much 
of Norma’s company as possible thereafter, and she, 


98 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


on her part, did not try to avoid him. When he 
proposed a ride or a game of croquet, unless she was 
busy she accepted his invitation. On the Fourth of 
July, Norma, for the first time in her life went to a 
place of entertainment without her parents. She 
went with Mr. Alton, and that gentleman was very 
happy, thinking that he had won her. She had gone 
with him because her mother had ordered her to do so, 
not from any desire of her own. She utilized the 
occasion to make her own Declaration of Indepen- 
dence. Never afterward did she accompany a man 
at her mother’s command, but used her own judg- 
ment, and followed her own inclinations. 

The day was spent as is the custom in country 
towns. At eleven o’clock in the morning there was a 
parade which was reviewed by the town and county 
officers. Thurston Wales, the orator of the day, was 
on the reviewing stand as the guest of honor. The 
Declaration of Independence was read by the young 
county judge; the choir rendered a few patriotic 
songs, and then the orator was introduced. He was 
a man of plain face, but had a rich, full voice, and 
had easy and charming manners. His speech thrilled 
his hearers. Norma enjoyed the oration exceedingly, 
and later had the pleasure of meeting the orator. At 
the dinner which followed she sat near him at the 
big table, and her cup of happiness was full. With 
the exception of the oration and the dinner the cele- 
bration tired her. She could not muster any interest 
in the proceedings. On the opening of the dance, 
she danced just once and then insisted on being taken 
home. 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 99 


That day seemed to mark the breaking down of 
her striking reserve and exclusiveness. She accepted 
invitations from her men friends; and, in spite of 
her shyness became more popular. Although not 
beautiful she was interesting, and men of sense pre- 
ferred her society to that of the pretty girls who had 
nothing to recommend them except their good 
looks. 

Her home life was as hard and unpleasant as ever. 
But in spite of her many occupations she did not for 
one moment lose sight of her studies, and besides she 
read everything that she could. Her lessons with 
Mrs. Maynard were not regular, but they were just 
as interesting to the girl, who looked forward to them 
with intense pleasure. Mrs. Maynard, on her side, 
was glad of the opportunity to study the girl more 
carefully. Gradually Norma began to feel that she 
might confide, and so, one evening, she told her about 
Captain Marshall and Mr. Alton, and the proposals 
which they had made. Mrs. Maynard knew that 
Captain Marshall had left the town, and had sup- 
posed that he had gone away because of unrequited 
love. But Mr. Alton remained, so thinking that per- 
haps Norma cared for him, she asked: 

“Then you don’t like Mr. Alton.?” 

“Oh, I like him well enough as far as that is con- 
cerned. But that’s the point — I like him. That is 
no reason for marrying him. Marry him! Why he 
is only a boy. He has nothing, and I know nothing. 
And that’s all there is to be said about it. I had just 
as well marry any one of twenty boys whom I happen 
to like more or less. Liking is not loving. I don’t 


LofO. 


100 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


feel that I should care to make any sacrifice for a 
boy.” 

Mrs. Maynard saw that the girl was too level- 
headed to be in danger from any silly love affairs. 
But she could not fathom her absolute indifference 
to men in general. If Norma had been asked to ex- 
plain she would have answered : 

“I am simply utterly disgusted with the men 
whom I meet. I know too much of this wild life ; and 
I have seen too much of it, and of men about here 
to have much respect for them. They are either 
selfish or empty-headed. They only think for them- 
selves and of themselves. But few of them have 
ideals — or reverence for anything.” 

But no one thought of asking her for her reasons; 
although all her friends wondered at her quiet in- 
difference. 

A little later Mr. Alton was visited by his father — 
a fine old-fashioned gentleman. He was a clergyman 
of recognized power, and was devoted to his calling. 
He was delighted with Norma because she had so much 
more character than the majority of young girls. He 
was also interested in her parents. It was evident 
that his son had given him the impression that Norma 
was the girl whom he had chosen for his wife. 

The old gentleman preached several times in the 
village school house, and became very popular. He 
put up at the hotel, and when he left found that he 
was leaving many friends behind. After the general 
leave-taking he turned to Norma, and said to her: 

“I believe you will make my boy happy and good. 
You have a splendid influence over him.” 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 101 


Although Alton’s newspaper prospered, and he was 
elected to office without opposition, and everything 
seemed to be going smoothly with him, he was not 
happy. He grew querulous and unreasonable, even 
with Norma. He protested when she accepted invita- 
tions from other men, and begged her not to accept 
other invitations than his. She refused flatly to 
gratify his jealousy, and, as was reasonable, did ex- 
actly as she saw fit, not asking his permission or pay- 
ing any attention to his jealous outbursts. She told 
him bluntly that she was free to do as she liked, and 
would not sacrifice herself to his unreasoning jealousy. 
She was changing and developing. 

One gloomy, rainy day, he called on her, and on 
that quiet afternoon had a serious talk with her. He 
wanted to find out if she loved anybody else; but all 
his questioning was in vain. From her he could gain 
neither admission nor disclaimer. Nor would she 
agree to consider herself as bound to him until she 
had learned to love him. He begged her to become 
engaged to him. She very properly refused. 

Thereupon he said: 

“Then, Norma, I shall have to go away. I cannot 
bear to stay here and see you every day in the com- 
pany of others, knowing that you do not belong to 
me, and that you may be learning to love another. 
When I have once gone away I will not return until 
you say the word, or until I hear that you are mar- 
ried to somebody else. I cannot stand this life any 
longer. I am on the rack every day, and all the day. 
It is of no use asking you to have pity on me, for 
you have refused to do that. I do not blame you, but 


loa THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


if you should find when I am away, that you cared 
for me more than you knew, and want to see me 
again, let me know and I will come back.” 

For a long time Norma was silent. She was really 
sorry for the man, although she did not love him, and 
although she saw that he was acting both stupidly 
ahd selfishly. She looked at him in astonishment. 
Then she noticed that tears were quietly coursing 
down his cheeks. It was evident that although, as 
she had put it, only a boy, he was terribly in earnest, 
and was suffering. The expression of her face gave 
her suitor courage, and taking her hand, he placed 
his arm around her waist. As he drew her to him 
she whispered: 

“I am so sorry, Mr. Alton, very, very sorry.” 

He was encouraged to draw her closer to him, and 
she did not struggle, as he asked so eagerly : 

“Then you do love me, Norma. You won’t send me 
away. You know how I long to call you mine. You 
do love me, Norma 

Freeing herself from his embrace, she replied: 

“No, I think not, Mr. Alton. I do wish you would 
not love me. I can’t bear to see you suffer so; but I 
cannot marry you.” 

“Do you want me to go away.? I will go gladly, 
if I may but take your promise with me.” 

“No, I don’t want you to go away; neither do I 
feel that I want you to stay. That is the trouble. 
I don’t feel that I care whether you go away or stay. 
But you are not happy here. I don’t love you as you 
want me to. Perhaps it will be better for you to go 
away for awhile. I am sure you will be happier then. 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 103 


And you may meet a girl whom you care for, and 
who will care for you in return. You see I am not 
responsive. I was not made to be your wife. Be- 
sides we are both young yet. And have you 
thought that your people would not be likely to be 
satisfied should you take such a girl for your wife as 
I am.f* You must remember that I am not educated 
at all. I have scarcely ever been to school. Your 
family would regard it as a disgrace. How do you 
suppose they would treat me. You had better go 
away. You will find some pretty, educated girl who 
will love you and make you happy. I cannot do 
either the one or the other.” 

In spite of Alton’s threat to go away, he lingered, 
determined to try again in a day or two. As easy 
were it for a moth to escape the fascination of a flame, 
as for a man who is in love with a girl to run away 
from her, 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A FEW days afterwards, Mr. Alton, who was 
carrying out his plan of staying a little 
longer and making at least one more attempt 
to win Norma, again called on the girl and asked her 
^ to go for a trip down the valley with him. He pro- 
posed a long drive. 

“No,” she answered, “I do not care to go driving 
to-day.” 

“Then will you go for a ride down to the grove 
after supper.^ I’ll be back in a short time, and we 
can set off immediately afterward.” 

“Yes,” replied Norma, “I should like a ride in the 
early evening.” 

She ordered her horse to be brought round, and 
when Mr. Alton appeared, she was waiting for him. 
The Irish stableboy had said to her warningly, as 
she mounted the horse : 

“You had better be careful with Firefly, Miss 
Norma. She is very skittish, and ready to make a 
record.” 

“Don’t you worry, Joe,” was the reply. ‘T will 
take care of Firefly, and of myself, too. If she wants 
to stretch herself, she will have the chance.” 

For a while Mr. Alton and his companion rode 
along in silence enjoying the delicious evening air. 
Firefly in particular curvetted and pranced, half- 
satisfied to be going, but more than half-longing to 
be going faster. The silence was at last broken by 
Mr. Alton saying: 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 105 


“Firefly is anxious to be off, Norma. If you were a 
man, now, I could challenge you to a race. I am as 
restless as your mare is, and I think it would be fine 
to put on a spurt. What do you say about it.^^ You 
know I am not challenging you.” 

“No challenge is needed. You know I have South- 
ern blood in my veins. I am in for a race, if you are. 
What is the stake.?*” 

Mr. Alton was not in the least surprised that Norma 
accepted his challenge. He knew that she was a fear- 
less and competent rider, and that she was not taking 
any great risk in riding against him. So he an- 
swered laughingly: 

“Well, this mettlesome Indian of mine seems an- 
xious to try your Kentuckian’s speed; so I make 
a proposition : Let’s race for your promise, 
which you have not so far been willing to give 
me.” 

Norma laughed quietly and said: 

“Surely you are joking, Mr. Alton.” 

“Not in the least. I was never more in earnest in 
my life. I will race you for your promise, Norma. I 
really am going to the Coast unless you change your 
mind, or unless Fortune favors me. So if you beat 
me, you will be rid of me. Don’t you think that is 
worth racing for?” 

“Then, as I understand it, the stake is my liberty? 
Heads you win, tails I lose, eh?” 

“Well, that’s scarcely the way I mean it. What 
I propose is a race for a wife. If I lose, I lose every- 
thing I care for in the world. I have everything to 
* gain and everything to lose.” 


,106 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


“I am willing to race for the race, but not for the 
stake,” she answered, and was off like a shot. 

There was a long unbroken sweep of valley, 
through which the road stretched ahead for miles. 
The conditions for the race were ideal, the road 
being as firm and hard as those of Switzerland. 

Firefly was the pet of Mr. Roslyn’s stable, and the 
finest of several fine horses. Comanche, the big black 
owned by Mr. Alton, was a Mexican, bought from an 
Indian chief, who had stolen the animal, and had 
been glad to get rid of it at a reasonable figure. The 
horse was known to everybody in the valley, and had 
a very good reputation for speed and staying qual- 
ities. The odds were certainly in favor of Mr. Alton, 
and that was the reason why Norma had refused to 
agree to the stake proposed by him. It would have 
been a clear case of giving the answer which he 
wanted, and which she had so steadfastly refused to 
give. And she was not willing to lose by a ruse 
what she had refused to give voluntarily. 

The conditions of the race remind one of the story 
of the two Arabs, who pitted their horses against 
each other. They flew over the course, for a long 
time neck to neck. Then one shot ahead of his rival. 
The rider of the second horse cried out to his antag- 
onist : 

“Has your horse ever done a day’s plowing.?” 

“Yes, just one,” was the reply. 

“Then,” said the other, “I shall beat, for the 
horse I ride has always lived a free life, and has 
never been behind the plow.” With which he shot 
ahead, and, as he had prophesied, won the race. 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 107 


Just after the race had been commenced, Mr. Alton 
regretted the step he had taken, for although Norma 
was a splendid horsewoman, he felt sure that, should 
her fiery mare get excited, the small hand of her rider 
would never be able to hold her in? The pretty 
mare and her fair rider were going like the wind. 
Such a challenge the Mexican, who seemed to know 
what was expected of him, could not ignore, so on 
he shot. On and on they fled, often neck and neck. 
Then one would forge ahead for awhile, to be in 
turn out-distanced by the other. 

Near their goal lay a deep ravine, in the bottom 
of which was an ugly, swift-running stream. At any 
time it was an awkward place; but, as the horses ap- 
proached it was almost twilight, and the danger was 
all the greater. Should either one forget to rein up, 
there would certainly be an accident. Mr. Alton, who 
was ahead, tried to check his steed, so as to warn 
Norma. But the Mexican plunged on and his rider 
found it utterly impossible to control him. Mr. Alton 
struggled hard to turn the horse aside and gain 
the plain, hoping that his action would warn 
Norma. 

While he was thus struggling, the Kentuckian 
plunged past; and Norma, in the moment of excite- 
ment, gave vent to a yell of triumph which was 
much like the war-whoop of an Indian. The yell 
seemed like a challenge to the Mexican, who, ignoring 
his master’s hand, rushed ahead, as if wild. Then he 
suddenly stumbled, almost unseating his rider; then 
stumbled again, almost falling himself. The stum- 
bling lost the race for Mr. Alton, for the Ken- 


108 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


tuckian took the ditch with ease, and the young 
barbarian was safe. 

Reining in and turning about, Norma was aston- 
ished to see her competitor, not only far behind, but 
lying on the ground. When she rode back to him, Mr. 
Alton rose, and formally took off his hat to his victor. 
His face was pale and his hand trembled. Placing 
her hand on his shoulder, she sprang to the ground. 
Neither spoke, and Norma sank on the ground to rest. 

The western sky was aglow with the splendor of a 
glorious sunset, and all the valley was perfectly quiet, 
except for the blowing of the horses and the quick 
breathing of the excited riders. 

Passing his bridle over his arm, Mr. Alton led 
Comanche back over the road to the place where he 
had first stumbled. On one side of the road lay the shoe 
cast from his right forefoot. Picking up the shoe, 
the symbol of good luck to the recipient, he carried 
it back to the girl whom he had left resting. She ac- 
cepted the shoe in silence and Mr. Alton made no 
remark. After a while he held out his hand to aid 
her to rise. She took it, and stepping up to her 
horse hung the shoe over the right horn of her saddle. 
This done, she turned and said: 

“Now, let us go back home, Mr. Alton.” 

Stooping, her escort dutifully held his hand for 
her to step on, and she sprang lightly into the saddle. 
By this time it was growing dark. The stars were 
peeping out over the silent valley, and the lights of 
the town were twinkling, as the riders rode back to 
the hotel. 

Norma was much perturbed and disgusted with her- 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 109 


self and everything and everyone else. She hated the 
man who rode at her side — at least she thought she 
did. She was angry that she had made a spectacle 
of herself. All the same she was glad that she had 
won the race, although she did not betray her satis- 
faction. She kept as aloof from Mr. Alton as pos- 
sible. Chagrined he tried to ride closer to her and 
asked : 

“Why are you so silent, Norma.? I never saw such 
a spiritless victor before. I hope that the result of 
our race is not a prophecy of the future, after all, 
but that, as in the case of dreams, the contrary will 
happen. Look, there is an open plain before us! 
According to our race I have not succeeded in win- 
ning the girl I love; but is she sure that she will let 
that stand.? How do we know.? How can anyone 
know.? Perhaps you will alter your mind. You 
have won the race, and maybe you will change your 
mind. Anyhow I hope you will be as successful in 
life as you were this evening. I should like to ride 
in the race at your side, if you would but have it so. 
If you will not, there is nothing for me but to go 
away. I am about prepared for the ordeal, now ; and, 
unless you change your mind by the end of the week, 
I shall leave. Is there no probability that you will 
alter *your mind.? Won’t you alter it now.?” 

“No, Mr. Alton, it would be better for you to 
go away, as you have said, — ^better for both of us. 
I do not want to marry. I am not ready. I am too 
young. When we meet again I am sure you will be 
the first to say that my decision was best for both of 
us. Go away and see the world, as I hope to do some 


110 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


day. We are both too young to marry. To marry 
and settle down in this out-of-the-way corner would 
mean ruin to both of us. We should be too cramped. 
We have not yet learned to breathe. You will find 
your place out in the world, and some woman to love 
you and make you happy. And then you will look 
back with thankfulness on the result of the race this 
evening. You see, besides, you have done nothing in 
particular, and you have nothing.” 

The last remark was ill-timed and ill-considered. 
Had Norma loved the man at her side she would never 
have made it. He was stung. Quick as a flash he 
retorted : 

‘‘So you are ambitious, Norma. If 1 had something, 
if I were rich, if I had a prominent position, you 
might be persuaded to marry me? You should not 
have said that so late. Surely you know I am not 
without means.” 

They were standing at the door of the house. Joe 
came out for the horse; Mr. Alton remained silent 
for a moment, his rein over his arm, snapping his 
whip over his boot, and looking into the face of the 
girl before him. Her face, in the glow of light which 
shone from the open door, was troubled. Suddenly 
she stepped up to her admirer, offered him her hand, 
and said: 

“I am very sorry that I hurt your feelings by that 
foolish remark, Mr. Alton. I did not mean to. I 
never want to hurt you. I am not myself to-night. 
You will forgive me, won’t you?” 

He took her hand in his, pressed it warmly, and 
then carried it to his lips. He was too much moved 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART ill 


to be able to speak. So with a quiet “Good night,” 
she turned and went into the house. She at once 
went upstairs to her own room, for she did not want 
to meet anybody, as ordinary conversation would 
have been irksome to her. 

It was a strange feeling that took possession of 
the girl-woman. Repeatedly she passed in review 
before her mind’s eye the events of the evening. She 
heard her admirer’s pleading voice; she saw the 
suppressed excitement under which he was laboring. 
She felt sure that he was good and honorable,— 
everything that a woman could ask from the man 
whom she married. Although she had beaten him 
in the race, he had not lost control of himself, and 
had taken his defeat gracefully; besides he had 
shown feeling enough to charm his victor. 

She could not decide whether she had done right in 
refusing his offer of marriage; whether or not she 
was cruel in practically compelling him to go away. 

“Am I right or wrong.?” she kept asking herself. 
“God only knows. I do not want to marry at all. I 
certainly do not want to marry him. The thought 
of that is painful. All the same I do not want to 
make him suffer. Perhaps I ought to sacrifice myself 
for him. But would it be right for me to do that 
when I do not love him.? I am sure that the one who 
goes will be happier than the one who stays. I will 
let him go. If I am making a mistake only one of 
us will suffer. Should I marry him we should both 
suffer.” 

In the meantime Mr. Alton had mounted his limp- 
ing Comanche and shortly afterward arrived at his 


m THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


hotel, where he turned his pet over to the keeping of 
a reliable attendant, with; 

“Be good to Comanche, John, I have had my last 
ride on him.” 

Unless Mr. Alton had gone away immediately he 
could not have avoided seeing Norma again ; so three 
days afterwards they met at a garden party which 
was given at the hotel. Mr. Alton told her that 
the evening of the ride had been the stormiest in his 
life. Of course she said that she was very sorry. 
All the same she did not change her stand, and 
would not give her suitor any hope. 

On the following afternoon, as she went out on 
the west porch, Norma happening to look up, saw, 
passing down the road over which she had ridden the 
race with Mr. Alton, a buggy in which that gentle- 
man was seated. After gazing for a moment, the girl 
turned and went up to her room, and watched the 
buggy out of the window. Mr. Alton’s departure 
had given her a wrench she did not try to disguise 
from herself. She asked herself : 

“Why is he going without saying ‘Good-bye’ ? 
That is not friendly. I do not think that I have 
deserved that from him. I did not try to make him 
miserable.” 

Had she but known, Mr. Alton had called in the 
morning to say “Good-bye” to the family. As Norma 
was not at home, he had waited some time for her, but 
had had to leave without seeing her. No one had 
mentioned that to her. 

She felt that an influence had passed out of her 
life which she would fain have kept there. She did 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 113 


not know where he was going. She only knew that 
he was leaving her because she would not make him 
happy in his way. Then she thought: 

‘‘If he loves me, as he says he does, he will come 
again some day. And perhaps I shall have changed 
my mind, and shall be able to make him happy. If 
he never comes, no one will have suffered. So in any 
case all is for the best.” 


CHAPTER XV. 



HE relations between Norma and Mrs. Ros- 


lyn were far from ideal. From the mother 


the daughter had never received counsel or 


guidance. Their lives seemed to run on different 
lines; their characters to have little in common. Of 
sympathy between them there was absolutely none. 
The girl stood alone in the world, and that loneliness 
she felt keenly. After her refusal to marry the well- 
to-do bachelor whom the mother had decided was a 
desirable son-in-law, the distance between Norma and 
Mrs. Roslyn widened. Norma, noticing the difference 
between herself on the one hand, and the rest of the 
family on the other, began to wonder if she really 
was the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Roslyn. And to 
add to her distress, on three several occasions she had 
been pointedly asked if she really was the daughter 
or only the adopted daughter of the family. 

After Mr. Alton had gone away, Norma was in a 
quandary. She did not know what to do. The time 
was approaching when her father had promised to 
send her to school ; but in that promise she placed lit- 
tle reliance. Her mother had never given her consent, 
and Norma knew that, at the crucial moment, she was 
likely to meet Mrs. Roslyn’s antagonism. 

At this juncture Norma decided to talk the matter 
over with Mrs. Maynard. She unburdened herself; 
told how hateful to her was the distasteful life which 
was sapping her strength; how unbearable the un- 
reasonable amount of work which she could not es- 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 115 


cape ; how she longed for an education, to go out into 
the world, and occupy a position in which she would 
be recognized as more than a mere cipher. Very 
feelingly she spoke of the atmosphere of her sur- 
roundings ; how vice and looseness of living were con- 
stantly flaunted before the eyes of herself and her 
sisters; how she could neither escape nor protest. 

Mrs. Maynard was equal to the occasion. She 
dreaded the result on the life of the girl, should her 
reasonable aspirations be thwarted. She pictured 
what Norma might achieve, were she properly en- 
couraged in her laudable ambitions. 

So, acting under Mrs. Maynard’s advice, Norma 
wrote to an acquaintance of her father’s in Platte- 
ville, and there she secured her board and a room in 
return for working in the house. Then she announced 
to her family what she had done, and what her in- 
tentions were. No sympathy and no aid did she 
receive. She left home with clothing which could 
scarcely be considered proper, let alone fitting. Some 
of her garments were made out of flour bags. She 
had but two dollars in money. Thanks to her study 
with Mrs. Maynard, she was able to pass the examina- 
tion, and entered the fourth grade in the high school. 

At the end of the school term she was wanted 
again at home, so returned there. But she only re- 
mained for a short time, as she was offered the 
position of teacher of a little school, four miles 
away. This appointment was due to Mr. Maynard’s 
influence. For several weeks she walked to and from 
the school, living at home; but at the end of that 
time managed to arrange for a room and board at a 


116 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


house which was two miles nearer the school. Even 
then her troubles were not ended, for she found it 
impossible to collect her salary. She was, in conse- 
quence, compelled to return again to the dreary life 
of the hotel, and to slave as before. It seemed for a 
time as if everything was against her, and as if 
there was no escape from bondage. Here again her 
teacher-friend came to her assistance, securing her 
school-warrant, and on it borrowing seventy-five dol- 
lars. Then she coaxed Mr. Roslyn to allow the girl 
to go to the academy in an adjoining county. Mrs. 
Roslyn’s consent was needed before this could be 
accomplished, and the consent was only obtained by 
Norma agreeing to take with her her eldest brother 
and sister. 

The three were established in two rooms, and lived 
fairly comfortably together. But at the end of the 
nine months’ term Norma broke down from hard 
study, overwork and care. She was almost a physical 
wreck. All the same she did not collapse until she had 
finished the term with one of the most brilliant records 
ever made in the history of the school. Then came the 
reaction. Weeks of illness and discouragement fol- 
lowed. During that period there came into her 
life a man who was destined to have a great 
influence upon her future. His name was Wal- 
lace Somers. He had lately come from the 
East, and was a graduate of Yale, — a man of 
cultivated tastes and refined habits. He was deeply 
touched by what he heard of the girl. She was a 
marvel to him. He could not understand how, hav- 
ing been brought up in such rough surroundings, she 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 117 


could retain, or could have ever gained, such refine- 
ment. They talked literature, and he told her of his 
travels, which had been extensive. He expressed his 
views of the West frankly, but not oflTensively. He 
gave his opinions, and she theorized, about the out- 
side world. Norma grew to have more interest in the 
world. It was just what she wanted at that juncture ; 
and life became more worth living. 

Friends who sympathized with Norma in her illness 
invited her to visit the capital of the state. She 
went to spend two weeks with them. It was her 
third venture away from the valley, and resulted 
well for her. She was introduced to the first really 
learned man she had ever met, — one of the regents 
of the state university. He was very favorably im- 
pressed by her, and became interested in her future. 
In consequence it was arranged that she should live 
in his house, — ^his wife welcoming her as a member of 
the family. She was to recite to the professor, learn 
proof-reading, type-setting and paragraphing, and 
attend the lectures given at the night school. She 
was also allowed to gain practical experience on the 
professor’s journal. Seven months of devotion to 
duty in such an atmosphere worked wonders. The 
girl met men and women of an entirely different type 
from those she had hitherto encountered, and by all 
of them was regarded as interesting. That of course 
encouraged her. Among others, one who interested 
himself in the girl was General Conn. While paying 
visits to the regent’s office, he frequently drew her 
into conversation. 

An end was put to this happy time by the illness of 


118 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


Norma’s mother, which necessitated the girl’s return 
to the valley with its cramping influences, and the 
hotel with its dwarflng associations. But she was 
very much cheered by the promise made to her volun- 
tarily by General Conn that he would help her. On his 
next visit to Midvale he talked the matter over with 
a few of the leading men there, and it was settled that 
Norma should be appointed postmistress. Of this she 
at the time knew nothing, and it was therefore a 
great surprise to her to receive a visit from several of 
her prominent townsmen to ask her if she would 
accept the position. A change was to be made shortly, 
she was informed, and General Conn had secured the 
appointment for her. Her parents had no objection, 
so she accepted with alacrity. 

The position assured for her what she had so long 
wanted, an income sufficient for her needs, but she 
had not much time left for study. But of other 
training she had a great deal. Several leading pa- 
pers wrote to her asking her to act as their corres- 
pondent, as the district was emerging into promi- 
nence. She accepted the offers, being anxious to 
get all the practical training she could for whatever 
branch she might finally adopt. 

She was now a woman of affairs. She made a care- 
ful study of official and political matters. She made 
it her business to know ofiicials and contractors, as 
Midvale was promised a railroad and telegraph in 
the near future. She gathered the news for the 
papers which she represented; performed her official 
duties diligently; and cultivated all those who would 
be able to advance her. At the end of three years it 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 119 


was claimed for her that she knew and could call 
personally by name some six hundred voters of the 
county outside of her town. 

She worked long days and studied nights, and her 
head was not in the least turned by her success. She 
studied those about her. She emulated the example 
of those who made life brighter for others. In re- 
turn her own life grew brighter. She had never be- 
fore been so happy. The life she was leading was 
altogether different from that which she had left 
behind her, and she looked forward to the future with 
hope, even with confidence. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


O NE afternoon there arrived on the four 
o’clock stage the man whose going away 
had caused Norma Roslyn to come face to 
face with herself; which had, in fact, marked the 
turning-point in her career. After a stay of several 
years on the Pacific coast, during which time he had 
been very successful in business, Mr. Alton had been 
induced by his aged father to return. A short time 
after rejoining his father, he heard that Norma had 
been married a year or more. Not long afterward 
business matters called him to Midvale, some fifty 
miles distant from his father’s home. One of his 
fellow-passengers was a great admirer of Norma, and 
knew her and her family quite well. Learning that 
his neighbor was from Midvale, Mr. Alton, who was 
naturally interested, began to ask questions, and to 
try to find out the lay of the land. He learned, 
among other things, that the Miss Roslyn who had 
been married, was not Norma, but her younger sister, 
Violet. On hearing this he smiled, and hope again 
sprang up in his heart. 

That evening, when Norma entered the dining room 
of the hotel she found it crowded with people whom 
she knew. To her astonishment she found Mr. Alton 
there. Having greeted her warmly he sat at table 
while she dined. It was soon noised about that he 
was in town, and his old friends came to greet him. 
As soon as dinner was over, Norma, as was her cus- 
tom, went back to the office. At nine o’clock when she 


Z20 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 1^1 


returned to the hotel, there was Mr. Alton waiting 
for her. He told her that, having learned that she 
was going to spend the night with a sick girl friend, 
he had taken the liberty of sending someone else in 
her place, together with the message that Miss Roslyn 
had company, and so was prevented from putting 
in appearance. 

This meeting was an interesting one. Norma was 
much impressed by Mr. Alton’s improved appearance. 
He was now a man of the world, quite different from 
him who had left her five years before. Memory 
flew back to the morning when she had watched him 
drive away. She again went over in her mind what 
she had then thought; and she wondered what his 
return would mean to her. Then in her mind she 
passed quickly in review the many sufferings she 
had endured since she had parted from him. She 
was so perturbed that she heard but little of what 
he said, so after struggling with herself for some 
time, she arose, and holding out her hand, said : 

“I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Alton, for 
your thoughtfulness in saving me the night’s ser- 
vice in the sick girl’s room, for I am very weary. 
You know I am working very hard. Will you excuse 
me, if I go to rest now.?” 

Alone in her room, she sat down on her bed, and 
for a long time thought of the man she had just 
left. Then, too weary to undress, with no thought 
of time or the duties of the morrow, threw herself 
down and thought over the events of the evening. 
She wondered where it would all lead. She also won- 
dered what Mr. Alton would think of her for dismis- 


122 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


sing him in such a manner. All through the next 
day, his picture was in her mind, although she did 
not once see him. Of course she thought that he 
was offended with her. 

When she went to dinner in the evening, there 
was Mr. Alton waiting for her with a carriage. He 
^ insisted that she should take a drive after dinner. 
The drive, he maintained, would do her good, and 
would give him the greatest pleasure he had had 
for many years. Norma consented, and after a hasty 
meal, they drove off along the road over which they 
had both ridden on a memorable evening. For some 
time they both maintained silence, thinking of the 
evening of the race, and their long separation. 
Norma was thinking, too, of the many hardships she 
had lived through during the preceding five years. 

“What a number of experiences we have both had 
since we last saw each other, Norma,” said Mr. Alton 
at last. “Are you glad to have me back again at 
your side? Would you have cared at all if I had 
never come back? Had you rather that I should go 
away again or stay here?” 

“Are you glad to be here again, Mr. Alton?” asked 
Norma, warily. 

He did not like the way in which she answered his 
questions by asking another. All the same he sus- 
pected that her question was only asked in order to 
hide her feelings and not to confess too much to 
him. He was sure that her opinion of him had al- 
tered ; and he was aware that his changed appearance 
and the air of prosperity about him, had had due 
effect on her. He knew also that she was still as am- 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 12S 


bitious as ever. And he felt that she was tired of 
her lonely life, in spite of its many advantages over 
the hfe she had led in the hotel. 

“Indeed, I am glad to be back here with you! I 
should think that my face would show that. I am 
not trying to disguise my feelings, and even if I 
did try I know that I could not succeed. It is like 
being in Heaven again to be with you. What is 
more, as you will not answer my questions, I will tell 
you that I am confident that you are glad to have 
me back again; only you have your old spirit left, 
and you don’t want to confess. Now if I tell you 
that I am glad you sent me away, and if I thank you 
for doing it, as you said I should some day, will you, 
on your side, tell me that you are glad to see me 
back again?” 

Still she temporized. 

“Am I much changed, Mr. Alton? Do you think 
that the change is an improvement? Have you any 
idea what I have done, and what I have been through 
in the five years since I last saw you?” 

“Yes, I know a great deal of your life, for I have 
always tried to learn all that I could about you. I 
know much of what you have suffered, and I have 
heard about your wonderful success in what you have 
taken up. Really, Norma, you are a marvel. I was 
half afraid to meet you, for I felt that you had 
grown so much more than I had. Now won’t you 
tell me that you are glad to see me again? Do tell 
me, Norma I You have punished me long enough, and 
I am sure you are too kind hearted to keep me on 
the rack when you know your own mind.” 


U4i THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


But the acknowledgment which he wanted he could 
not obtain from the girl. So he had to be contented 
to chat of his life while away, and to listen while she 
told him something of the influences which had 
shaped her efforts. She confessed, too, that her am- 
bition was to enter the University and give herself 
a finished education. But even if Norma would not 
say that she was glad to see Mr. Alton back, she 
promised to take another drive with him on the fol- 
lowing evening, and he read therein the answer 
which he wanted. Naturally he was not entirely satis- 
fied, but he determined to possess his soul in patience. 
He had waited for five years, and now that the game 
was in his hands he was not so foolish as to throw 
it away through rashness. 

For some days the business men of Midvale were 
busy concocting a plan by which they would be able 
to offer to Mr. Alton inducements which would tempt 
him to return to the town which he had helped to 
found and to build up. He was just the kind of 
man they wanted in the town. He asked for time 
to consider the offer. He had made up his mind that 
he would not take the offer in question unless Norma 
would accept his; and he wanted to come to a dis- 
tinct understanding with her before replying definite- 
ly. When he asked for the interview with her, the 
interview which would decide his fate, he was told 
that she was ill — too ill to come downstairs to re- 
ceive him. Nothing daunted he requested that he 
might be allowed to see her in her sick room, and his 
petition was granted. 

The interview was a memorable one to both. Mr. 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 125 


Alton told Norma of the meetings of the business men 
and of the propositions which had been made to him 
to induce him to cast in his lot with the people of 
Midvale. He added that he had not fully decided 
whether to stay or to go away again. After he had 
told his story, both remained silent for a time. Then 
Norma asked: 

“You’ll stay.J^” 

“On one condition, Norma. It is for you to de- 
cide.” 

The advantage of the moment was with the man, 
and he improved the occasion. He told her that she 
of all women could make him happy ; that he had 
met no one during his five years’ probation who had 
caused him for one moment to forget her who had 
sent him away, who could take her place. He pleaded 
that he had waited long enough to know his own 
mind, had there even been any doubt before. He 
said that he thought they had both, in their own way, 
suffered enough. He reminded her of the desperate 
struggles she had had to accomplish what she had 
already done; and pointed out to her that her life 
would be just as hard and unsatisfactory to her when 
she had won her coveted education as it had been 
before; that the world was not sufficiently advanced 
for her professional life to be anything but one long 
struggle, as long as she made the fight alone. 

“And, in that struggle, Norma,” he continued, 
^*you cannot be happy. W^hat is the use of success 
without happiness.? You really do belong to me, al- 
though you won’t say so. My going away was the 
parting of the ways to you. Perhaps you did not 


126 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


love me then. You didn’t, because you said you 
didn’t. Can you say so now.? I don’t think so. 
Together we can accomplish so much more than alone, 
and we should be so happy. God never intended that 
women should go out into the business world alone, 
and fight the battle unaided. They were not in- 
tended to be the bread-winners, either for them- 
selves or for others. Had it been so ordained, home 
would not have been created, nor the longing for home. 
We should all have been left free to follow our own 
paths, without thinking of each other. But busi- 
ness life and home life are separated. Woman’s 
sphere is to make the home; man’s to make business 
and to provide for his wife. Will you decide now 
whether or not you will be my wife? If you will say 
‘yes’ I shall stay here, and shall cast my lot in with 
the town. Otherwise I shall go away again, — ^this 
time for good. It lies with you to make me happy 
or to make me sadder than ever. I have not been 
happy while I have been away from you, although 
I have done the work that I found to hand. I should 
do the same again. But I should prefer to be happy. 
Life is not worth living otherwise.” 

Then he was silent. He was shaken with emotion, 
and feared that he had said too much. But he was 
determined to have his answer. Norma’s eyes slowly 
sought his. Then, raising her arm, she put it around 
his neck and drew his face to hers, for the first kiss 
which she had given. 

And she whispered, ‘‘Stay I” 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


T he marriage took place a few weeks later, 
Mr. Alton saying that he had waited long 
enough already; and Norma being inclined 
to agree with him. Of course, she resigned her 
commission, although she continued to contribute to 
papers. In fact she devoted more of her time and 
energies to journalistic work than she had previously 
been able to do. Moreover she was able to be of con- 
siderable assistance to her husband, whose fame as an 
editor was soon established throughout the State. He 
was also prominent in politics. He was a staunch 
champion of his State and a vigorous defender of 
his party. His future looked very bright indeed ; and 
he was happy in the thought that his wife would 
share whatever honors should come to him. She took 
deep interest in political and general subjects; and 
her good grasp of public questions won her indepen- 
dent fame. She was the best helpmeet it was possible 
for Mr. Alton to have found, as he himself was al- 
ways ready to admit. For her judgment he had pro- 
found respect, and frequently consulted her in politi- 
cal matters. 

For some time all went well. Then Somers county 
was invaded by carpet-bag politicians, men who cared 
nothing for the public welfare, but whose sole thought 
was to feather their own nests at the expense of the 
county. Most of the newcomers were representatives 
of big eastern firms, which firms had, for many years, 
held mortgages on most of the farms in that section. 

127 


128 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


They looked well after the interests of their firms, 
and as carefully after their own. They made a 
specialty of loaning money to the farmers, and that 
at an exorbitant rate of interest — never less than 
three per cent, per month. They strained every nerve 
to entangle every farmer who owned a little stock 
or who put up a new building. It seemed as if their 
object was to practically enslave every man in the 
community. The result was that the money sharks 
literally controlled the county, township and the mu- 
nicipal offices with all their funds. It became known 
that the public moneys of which they had the control 
were deposited in small banks which were not thought 
to be stable, and which existed for the benefit of just 
such schemers. 

Mr. Alton took a firm stand in opposing with all his 
influence such a condition of affairs. He could not 
be bought or coerced, and was recognized as the anti- 
ring champion. He was such a power that both the 
man and his journal were most cordially hated by the 
ringleaders and their henchmen, who were of the 
aggressive stamp of politicians. All the more heartily 
did they hate him when he was instrumental in hav- 
ing the offices which they had regarded as their pri- 
vate property taken away from them. The people 
demanded an accounting. They wanted to know 
what had been done with the public money. With a 
great flourish it was shown by the treasurer’s books 
that the funds were all intact. But the chicanery by 
which this was accomplished was soon generally 
known. The cashier had driven his white ponies to a 
town sixty miles away. There he drew the money 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 129 


which helped him to put on a bold front. But the 
knowledge of this was what caused the downfall of 
the ring. 

The ringsters felt that all their power was gradu- 
ally slipping away from them, and they considered, 
and rightly, that Wayne Alton was the cause of their 
loss of power. They decided that he was growing 
too strong in Somers county, and too popular in the 
State. It did not take them long to act. 

One afternoon Norma was lying on a sick bed, one 
of her sisters at her side. A great noise was heard in 
the street below, and the sister went to the window to 
find out the cau§e. Men were running about in great 
excitement, and some of them were making towards 
the house. The sister went to the door to open it, 
when a neighbor who knew of Mrs. Alton’s illness 
quickly entered and said, in a low voice : 

“They have murdered Mr. Alton!” 

Not knowing what she was doing the sister rushed 
back to the bed, and as she caught the invalid in her 
arms, cried out: 

“My God, Norma, they have killed Wayne!” 

The woman of iron will swooned away, and for a 
time it seemed as if she would join her husband. 

The lifeless body of the murdered man was carried 
to the little home which, for four years, had been a 
shrine to two loving, happy hearts. A few days later 
the young widow turned away from the grave to 
take up such burdens as few women have ever carried. 
The funeral was attended by six thousand people; 
hundreds of telegrams and letters of condolence had 
been received. But this did not soften the blow. And 


130 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


once again Norma felt herself cruelly alone in the 
world. 

When she turned to the darkened home, she had 
not at first strength to enter it. So she sat down on 
the verandah, and for a long time watched the people 
who had been to the funeral stream past. Some of 
them who had known her for a long time left the road 
and went to give their sympathy, and at the same time 
to see if they could be of any assistance. One of her 
oldest friends offered her his arm, and conducted her 
into the house. She promised to be brave and to bear 
up, and that promise, like every other promise she 
ever made, she kept. 

She would not give herself time to mope, so deter- 
mined to carry on her late husband’s work. She pub- 
lished the paper, and continued his policy. Thus she 
became a great power in the work of eradicating the 
influence of those who had killed her husband. So 
successful was she that a member of the gang, in a 
moment of frenzy, declared that the wrong one had 
been put out of the way. They even threatened to 
have her arrested for publishing certain facts which 
they said she could not substantiate, and for accusa- 
tions which they claimed she could not prove. She 
never flinched, but met their charges with renewed 
attacks. They could not get a man to try to arrest 
her, and felt that she was their conqueror. She 
wormed out the secrets of their trickery, and within 
eighteen months after Mr. Alton’s death, she had 
completed the work which he had begun; and the 
carpet-baggers were ousted and routed. On the day 
following that on which the last and heaviest blow was 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 131 


struck, the blow which delivered the county for ever 
from the scoundrels, Mrs. Alton received the con- 
gratulations of hundreds of her townspeople. 

But although Mrs. Alton had been immersed in her 
profession, she had never been able to lose sight of the 
fact that she was different from her brothers and sis- 
ters ; nor did she forget that on several occasions she 
had been asked by friends if she really was the daugh- 
ter of Mr. and Mrs. Roslyn. She knew, and she knew 
that it was common property, that her supposed 
father and mother were not happy. Although she did 
not know the cause of their unhappiness, she never 
ceased to blame them mentally for having brought 
into the world a large family of children, not one of 
whom could have the memory of a happy childhood 
spent in a happy home. Norma’s marriage was fol- 
lowed by the breaking up of the entire family. About 
the time of Mr. Alton’s death, the brothers and sisters 
were scattered, two of them going with their parents 
to a small western town, where there were brighter 
prospects. 

Although Norma had risen so much above the level 
of her girlhood, she had done her duty faithfully 
by her brothers and sisters. But Mrs. Roslyn was 
not satisfied, and on one occasion, at table, said to 
her: 

“You are making quite a reputation for yourself. 
Almost every time I take up a paper I find in it some- 
thing which you have written or some notice of you. 
And nearly every day some one speaks to me of your 
cleverness. I wish you would take the trouble to let 
people know that I am your mother? That would be 


1S2 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


as little as you could do. My life has been one long 
effort, and yet I do not get a word of praise or credit 
for it. It must be nice to be praised and spoken well 
of as you are, but I should think that you would not 
begrudge me my share.” 

One of Norma’s brothers, who had listened with 
pain to this pitiful wail, said promptly: 

“Why, mother, you know as well as we do that 
Norma is not working for notoriety. She has nothing 
to do with people talking about her, and she does not 
give the information which you read about her. She 
cannot run to an editor every time he puts her name 
in the paper and insist that he shall add that you are 
her mother. She had just as well ask that her family 
tree should be given.” 

Mrs. Roslyn could not see things in that light, and 
all the reply that she vouchsafed to make to the ex- 
planation was to say, as her tears came: 

“Well, however that may be, I do not know. But 
I do know that I should like the world to know that 
I am her mother; that it was I who raised and edu- 
cated her, and made her what she is.” 

The children who heard the unreasonable speeches 
were sorry for their mother, who, as a rule, displayed 
some firmness and self-control. They realized that 
her request was a betrayal of the fact that she was 
dissatisfied with her life, and felt that she had been 
unsuccessful. 

When she felt that she had done her duty in Mid- 
vale, Norma disposed of all of her property, for she 
had exhausted her strength, and was no longer able 
to attend to her interests. Then she turned her back 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 133 


on the valley. Her work there had been successfully 
accomplished. She faced a new world and faced it 
alone. 

Her first step was to the capital, where she spent 
several weeks with friends, resting. Then she accept- 
ed a position which was offered her by the Lieutenant- 
Governor, who was well acquainted with her work, and 
who had a high regard for her character and firmness. 
Her devotion to her duty won her the esteem of all 
who came in contact with her; while her journalistic 
reputation was enhanced by weekly letters which she 
contributed to various papers. She managed to take 
a short course at a well-known commercial college, as, 
on the strength of her reputation, a position had been 
offered to her by a big publishing firm in New York. 
Her new employers were so well satisfied with her 
work that, at the end of a few months, they made 
her an offer of a still better place in Chicago. To the 
Windy City she went; and for four years she led a 
most active and useful life. She enjoyed life, both 
business and social, to the utmost. The last few 
months of her stay were all the pleasanter because 
of the work which she had to do in connection with 
the Columbian Exposition. 

While the Fair was in progress, she seized a favor- 
able opportunity to resign her position, and take a 
tour in Europe, both for the rest and for the chance 
of learning. After so many years of slavery, it was a 
delight to feel that all her debts were paid and that 
she was free, for a while, to go where the spirit moved 
her. She joined a party which travelled in a leisurely 
manner through England, Holland, Belgium, France, 


134i THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


Switzerland, Germany and Italy. One day, when in 
Rome, it occurred to her that it would be well to spend 
a year on the Continent as long as she was there. Her 
letters to American papers were attracting attention, 
and as she was receiving good payment, her expenses 
were covered. So although she returned with her 
party northward to Antwerp, she said good-by to 
them, and returned to Brussels, where she settled 
down for a course of study and a quiet rest. For 
the first time since she was a child on an Illinois farm, 
she was enjoying true repose. 

Through the kindness of some Boston friends who 
introduced Mrs. Alton, she secured a desirable home 
of the highest order, in an old Brabant ducal family 
in Brussels. This charming household consisted of 
Madame Veuve and her unmarried daughter. The 
home was filled with everything that refinement and 
taste could dictate and money buy. Just across the 
Avenue Louise lived the married daughter of the 
family; her husband, a high officer in the Belgian 
army, his father, a cabinet minister of King Leo- 
pold’s. All this conduced to undreamed advantages 
for our American woman, who was soon as much 
loved by her Brussels friends as if she had been a 
member of their family, as she proved to be to one 
of the families, ere many years. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


O NE morning there called on the family one 
of their dearest old friends, Henry Villard — 
a keen-eyed, good-looking man of middle 
age, who was delighted with the American woman, 
and who did not hide his admiration. On leaving, he 
begged for permission to return on the following day, 
and Madame Veuve, pleased to have him interested 
in her guest, readily gave the desired invitation. The 
same thing was repeated day after day, and week 
after week. Promenades in the park to hear the music 
of the bands ; drives through the Bois ; morning visits 
to the markets; afternoons in the galleries and pal- 
aces — all these followed as a matter of course. Once 
they went to historical Waterloo; and even made ex- 
cursions to Bruges — ^beautiful, sleepy Bruges, the 
one-time Venice of Northern Europe — ^with its art 
treasures, its sweet bells, and its many noble churches. 
Mrs. Alton was also often invited to dinner at M. 
Villard’s hotel, where she met his wife and sister. 
Madame Veuve used to smile and say : 

“It’s all right, Madame. It’s all right; his wife 
does not love him, but she has sense enough not to be 
jealous. But both M. Villard and his sister adore 
you.” 

On one occasion he sent his carriage for Norma be- 
tween eight and nine o’clock in the morning. He 
requested her to join his dinner party that evening, 
at which she would meet some Americans ; and, in the 

meantime, to come for him with the carriage and they 
135 


136 THE SENATOR'S SWEETHEART 


would go to St. Gudule for the music, which was 
Easter music. Whoever, who has once heard the 
Easter music in St. Gudule, can ever forget it.? 
Among the voices are some of the best from the 
opera. 

About this time it occurred to Norma that M. Vil- 
lard was actually taking possession of her, and she at 
once made up her mind that it must all end. In all the 
years of her widowhood, she had never gone out with 
men before; and she reproached herself for having 
made an exception in the case of M. Villard, especially 
as he was a married man. So she told him frankly 
that their friendship must be more restrained; that 
she did not wish to be seen so often in his company. 
Madame Veuve was present in the parlor when the ex- 
planation took place, but she knew no English; and 
so quiet was Norma, so self-contained, that no one 
could have gathered from her demeanor that the con- 
versation was anything but ordinary chat. But M. 
Villard burst out with : 

“Why, Madame Alton, why should that be.? Were 
my wife not in the way, I would marry you to-mor- 
row. Surely I have done nothing to offend you. I 
have always tried to be most correct in my attitude 
to you. Why should I be sent away like a naughty 
schoolboy.? Are you not free to do as you like? Do 
you have to answer to anybody? I cannot help ad- 
miring you ; I cannot help loving you. But you can- 
not blame me for that. You know that I have never 
tried to make love to you. I will not be sent away 
without some reason, for that would be like confessing 
that I had in some way done wrong; and that I will 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 137 


not admit. I have always heard a great deal about 
American wom^n. My mother was one. You are 
the only other American woman whom I know. I 
love you; I adore you, and you will not have my 
friendship. W^hy is this.? I have money as you 
know. I have everything but the right to marry you. 
Tell me why you wish me to go away.? I have a 
beautiful sister in your great country. Why not fill 
the place in my heart which she left vacant.?” 

Mrs. Alton diplomatically stated her views to the 
excited man, and made him see that his ideas and hers 
were not the same. 

Then she inquired about M. Villard’s sister. But 
all that she could learn was that the sister’s name was 
Federika, and that she had run away — it was thought 
to America — with her lover, who had spent a few 
years there. No trace of her had ever been found. 

Soon afterwards Mrs. Alton went to Rome. In all 
she spent several months in Italy and on the Riviera. 
She was an indefatigable sight seer, and nothing of 
interest, either in the shape of natural scenery or 
gatherings, escaped. When she had seen the sunny 
south thoroughly, she returned to Brussels, where 
she found awaiting her an invitation from a friend of 
hers in London. The invitation was for a visit for at 
least a month, and Mrs. Alton was promised a most 
delightful time. As she had determined to return to 
America, Mrs. Alton thought that she could not do 
better than take London on her way, so immediately 
wrote an acceptance of the invitation. Then she bade 
good-by to her Brussels friends. 

Her call at M. Villard’s hotel was returned by that 


138 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


gentleman on the following morning. He was very 
anxious to know why she was going to London, and 
why she thought of returning to America. She told 
him that she had never had any money except what 
she had earned, and as her funds were getting low, 
it was necessary to go back and earn more. 

He was not at all satisfied with her explanation, and 
exclaimed : 

“Why should you go back to America to earn 
money I have plenty and will give you half of what 
I have.? Have you not been happy here in Brussels.? 
You shall not want for anything if you will only 
stay.” 

So again Mrs. Alton had to explain to her admirer 
that her views and his did not coincide. Although it 
was impossible to convince him of the reasonableness 
of her course, and of the impossibility of accepting 
his offer, Norma made it clear that she was settled in 
her determination to go away from Brussels. 

When she left Brussels M. Villard was at the station 
to bid her good-by, and saw that she was made as 
comfortable as possible. 


CHAPTER XX. 


I N London Mrs. Alton was soon quite at home in 
the house of the noted daughter of a great Earl. 
The home in question was a beautiful one in 
the West End. For a month she moved among the 
very best people in the island; and the time was as 
helpful as it was enjoyable. The crowning joy was 
when she was offered a lucrative and influential posi- 
tion in the British metropolis — in the whispering gal- 
lery of the world, as she herself called London. 

It was in a big building in Farringdon Street, near 
Ludgate Circus, that the American woman began 
life as a breadwinner in London. For many months 
she devoted herself assiduously to her work, mixing 
with people of all kinds, finding herself continually 
confronted by new conditions and problems. But she 
was equal to everything which she undertook. She 
was surprised at the ease with which she adapted her- 
self to circumstances, at the large number of friends 
she made. She was in correspondence with women 
in twenty countries. During one convention week she 
met and talked with women from twenty-two coun- 
tries, and all of them spoke English. Such an ex- 
perience was, for such a woman, a great education in 
itself. Her success was brilliant, and she was praised 
to such an extent that the head of any woman who 
was less well-balanced, would have been completely 
turned. 

Hers was not an education that would have adorned 
a man of letters, or have qualified a college professor. 


140 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


IVithin the walls of the school-house she had learned 
but little. But, on the other hand the whole world 
was her school ; and her lessons she learned from those 
about her. She met no one whom she did not make 
contribute to her education. Above all she knew the 
value of moments, none of which she wasted. She was 
a woman when still a child. But for that she would 
never have attained such success in after life. Her 
republican simplicity never left her, while her in- 
grained tact was marvellous. Much as she had enjoyed 
her stay on the Continent, it was her life in England 
which was dearest to her in the Old World. Her 
friends were staunch and saw to it that she was kept 
in the forefront. 

At the end of eighteen months a period was put 
to her success in England by an almost mortal illness. 
It was many weeks after she was stricken that she 
was first able to join her friends in Paris, where she 
had hoped to regain her health, and at the same time 
to work. But finding, after a short time, that she 
would have to wait before resuming her work, she 
decided to return home. So, after three years’ ab- 
sence, she sailed for America. 

After a few months spent in Boston, she returned 
to Chicago, where her reputation was so good that 
she was soon offered a good position on the staff of 
one of the big publications. Hardly had she gotten 
comfortably settled in her flat on the South Side when 
word came that her mother was seriously ill, and was 
expected to live but a short while. Mrs. Roslyn was 
restless and wanted to see Norma before she died. 

For several years Mrs. Alton had been systematical- 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 141 


ly sharing her earnings with the parents, who had 
been quietly living on their western property. Owing 
to the panic they were greatly reduced, and for the 
same reason Mrs. Alton had not been able to send 
them as much money as usual. 

In answer to the telegram calling for her, the ever- 
dutiful daughter at once set out West, and again 
visited the valley from which she had been so long 
absent. She found that her mother was not only very 
ill, but was also consumed by the longing which often 
attacks those who are near the end of their journey — 
an intense desire to get back to the home of her child- 
hood. Mrs. Roslyn pleaded to be taken to her native 
State, where she wanted to await death and to be 
buried. Norma could not resist the invalid’s plead- 
ings, and so carried her back to the little home, where, 
for several weeks the suffering, but not unhappy 
woman, enjoyed a sweet, calm existence, with every 
comfort and convenience at hand, and the best care 
she had ever had, from both nurses and friends of 
her daughter’s. 

But even then the mother and daughter did not 
really come together. There was always a lack of 
understanding, and at this time it was as clearly 
marked as ever. When the last week came Mrs. Ros- 
lyn could not bear to have Norma leave her for a 
moment. As the invalid’s sufferings grew more and 
more intense, the faithful watcher remained all the 
more faithfully at her side. 

One Sunday evening friends came in to take leave, 
and the power of speech, of which Mrs. Roslyn had 
for some time been deprived, returned to her. The 


U2 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


sun poured through the west windows and flooded the 
room. The dying woman was deeply touched, and 
begged her callers to sing for her. When they had 
done this she asked for some one to kneel and pray, 
as she felt that she was about to leave the earth. After 
a few verses had been read from the Bible, one of the 
friends knelt and offered up a touching prayer. 
Everything conspired to make a scene that will never 
be erased from the memories of those who were present. 
By the side of the mother stood the faithful Norma, 
the hand of the dying woman within her own. A few 
moments of absolute quiet prevailed, that quiet which 
conforms with the grandeur of the parting hour, the 
dignity of death, the going away alone into the Great 
Unknown. The moment was not sad or painful. 
Those present seemed to be impressed with the har- 
mony of the scene. Like the sound of a soft, silver 
bell, the voice of the dying woman was heard thanking 
her good friends and nurses for their care. 

She did not lament. Her life had not been bril- 
liantly happy, and that all her friends knew. There- 
fore, they were not surprised to hear her say; 

“My Father calls me. I am glad to go.” 

Then, as if new life had been given her, she turned 
her head on her pillow and looked calmly but intently 
into the sweet pale face of the woman who held her 
hand. Norma bent down and asked softly ; 

“Do you want something, mother The faint 
answer came, after several ineffectual attempts to form 
the words : 

“I want — ^yes — I want — Norma — I — ^want — ^you — 
to — call — me — mother.” 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 143 


The eyes closed, and the hand fell from the clasp 
of the woman who stood as cold as the figure before 
her on the white bed, into the face of which she gazed 
steadfastly. 

One by one the visitors left quietly, leaving, as they 
thought the daughter and the dead mother. But once 
again there was a flicker of life, and Mrs. Roslyn 
whispered : 

“Norma — my — prayer — book.” And then she was 
gone. 

For a long time the living and the dead were in 
the room together. The sun went down, and the cham- 
ber was almost in entire darkness. Norma’s experience 
in the death-chamber was awful, the added mystery 
being a great weight. By and by she sank on her 
knees by the bedside, and buried her head in her hands. 
So long did she remain thus that her woman friend 
who had shared her vigils, feared that something 
had happened to her, and, coming to the door, looked 
in. Fearing that Norma was succumbing to the great 
strain, she went to the kneeling woman, and helping 
her to rise, led her from the room. 

Mrs. Alton was very calm while making the ar- 
rangements for the funeral, and deciding matters of 
importance. But she did not again enter the death- 
chamber until the afternoon of the second day, when 
the body, beautifully shrouded, had been placed in 
the casket, and the finishing touches were being put 
to the preparation for interment. Others were pres- 
ent to support her with their company. She slowly 
crossed the room and, from the little table which had 
stood by the mother’s bed, took a small, old prayer 


144 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


book. Going to the casket she motioned the under- 
taker to slide back the glass. 

As he did so, she moved as if to place the book with- 
in the white hands folded so peacefully over the quiet 
breast. But she was weak and nervous, and the book 
fell from her trembling hands to her feet. She 
stooped to pick it up, when lo ! there lay a yellow old 
paper and a miniature. That there should be any- 
thing between the leaves of the book was nothing un- 
usual; but she was struck by the fact that she had 
never before seen the miniature. Bringing all her will 
power into play, she calmly placed the book between 
the hands of the dead, put some lilies of the valley on 
the breast, then ordered the casket closed, and left the 
room. Never again did she look on the face of her 
whom she had called mother. 

Mrs. Alton accompanied the remains a night’s jour- 
ney to their last resting place. She endured the strain 
of the funeral in her own home, and again at Nauvoo. 
Then she returned to her home in Chicago, physically 
exhausted, and mentally in despair. 

The miniature which had fallen from the old prayer 
book was the exact image of herself. The yellow 
paper, patched and pieced together was part of a mar- 
riage certificate of Federika Villard and Julius Muel- 
ler, bearing date a year before the birth of Mrs. Alton. 
The name of the place of the marriage, the date of 
the month, and the name of the officiating clergyman 
were all missing. 

Norma knew that the Villards in Brussels had an 
American mother who had married her husband while 
he was attached in official capacity to the German Le- 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 145 


gation in Washington, and she knew that one of that 
woman’s two daughters had run away from Europe 
with a German who had been a soldier, but she did 
not know his name. She recalled her mother’s request 
that her prayer book be placed in her hand when she 
was laid in her coffin. She recalled, too, the many 
times she had been asked if Mr. and Mrs. Roslyn were 
her parents. The most vivid recollection was of the 
incident at the table in the hotel in the little town away 
out West, when she and her brother listened to her, 
their mother’s, strange request, that the daughter 
should make known to the world that she, Mrs. Roslyn, 
was Norma’s mother. Here she was face to face with 
the mystery of her parentage. At the same time she 
was face to face with the hard fact that, as her money 
was all gone she must work for more. 

So again she took up the threads of her toilsome 
life, with the added burden of a little sister, who had 
to be educated and cared for, now that the child’s 
mother was gone and her home broken up. The duty 
Norma assumed cheerfully. For so many years she 
had regarded it as part of her life to help to support 
the family, that there seemed nothing unreasonable 
in the idea that she should take sole charge and re- 
sponsibility as far as the little one was concerned. 

It was some time after this that Mrs. Alton moved 
to Washington. Her meeting with Senator and Mrs. 
Cushman has already been described. 

To us three girls who went to stay at Mrs. Cush- 
man’s house Mrs. Alton was a wonder, and a source 
of constant surprise. We had never dreamed that a 
woman unaided could accomplish so much. We had 


146 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


never dreamed that a bread-winner could by any freak 
of fortune secure the advantages that Mrs. Alton had 
enjoyed from the sheer force of her character. We 
had never dreamed that a wage-earner among women 
could be so refined, so tactful and so well-informed, 
so helpful to others, so gracious in demeanor, and 
withal so lovable. 

To me particularly Mrs. Alton was a new kind of 
woman, and taught me that there may be many among 
the thousands of toilers in the great departments of 
the great capital, and hundreds of thousands of others 
in the big cities of our land, whose lives have been 
more helpful, stronger and braver than mine. After 
getting to know Mrs. Alton I had quite another idea 
of the bread-winner and the working-girl. Mrs. Alton 
had gotten a great deal out of life from her varied 
experiences. She knew the life of the factory woman, 
as well as that of those in offices and stores. She knew 
the conditions in which the women in many countries 
live, from the great queens down to the lowest level 
reached by the denizens of the slums of London, Paris, 
Glasgow, New York, and Chicago. She spoke with 
information on these subjects. 

With all her lovableness, her pleasing personality, 
her knowledge of the world, her loving heart and help- 
ful nature, none of us could imagine why she remained 
unmarried. She was ambitious for a home, and desired 
to give up the daily struggle for bread ; but she did 
not seem attracted by any of the many charming men 
who visited the interesting house where she lived as if 
at home. Those whom she met elsewhere she did not 
cultivate. Her sister Marian, a charming girl, could 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART U7 

offer no explanation, so I figured out a reason of my 
own. 

It would appear that, after all, Mrs. Alton loved 
her Brussels admirer; that she expected him ft; come 
at some time and claim her. Or it might have been 
that she was waiting for the Captain of her girlhood 
days to tell her his love again. But we must leave her, 
and tell something about some of the others whom we 
met in Washington, and something of the pleasant 
times we had there during our winter’s stay. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


W E arrived at what was to be our Washing- 
ton home two days after Christmas. The 
first function which we attended was a re- 
ception at the White House. Most girls who have 
not already had that experience, fondly hope that 
they will some day realize that ambition. With most 
girls the hope exists together with that of some day 
winning a true, loving husband. 

The big, square card received by Mrs. Cushman, 
read: 


The President and Mrs. Roosevelt 
request the pleasure of the company of 
Mrs. Cushman 
in the Blue Room 

during the New Year Reception at the White House, 
Wednesday morning, January the first. 
Nineteen hundred and — 
at eleven o’clock. 

At eleven sharp our carriage was at the door, and 
we three gay girls, a flutter of white, with pink cheeks 
and eyes glistening with happiness, were ready with 
silk wraps and bare heads, to step out into the bril- 
liant sunshine. Our beautiful hostess was also 
dressed in white, without a flower or a jewel to en- 
hance the exquisite toilette, which was unlike any 
other seen that day. On our way to the White 
House we drove under the porte cochere of the Brit- 
ish Embassy, where Mrs. Cushman sent in a card of 

148 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 149 


New Year’s greeting to the Ambassador and his wife. 
This was her usual custom, but on this occasion, 
knowing that his lordship was confined to his room 
by illness, she sent in, in addition to the card, a note 
of sympathy. 

Then we drove on through the crowds toward the 
West Gate, through lines of police. On reaching the 
gate an officer opened the carriage door, and from our 
hostess took the little blue card which gave us admis- 
sion. Another officer opened the door and we were 
handed out on the carpeted steps, and passed into the 
Red Room. To our excited imagination it seemed as 
if we were in Paradise. There was a big crowd, but 
it was courteous and well dressed. In the State dining 
room, which opened from the Red Room, we left our 
wraps, and then went back into the Red Room. We 
were thus brought face to face with the President, his 
wife and their receiving party, who stood just within 
the Blue Room. 

As we advanced our names were called out by an 
officer. We were greeted by the President, who gave 
us each a cordial handshake, and we then passed on 
and greeted the ladies. Following our hostess we 
stepped behind the receiving line, and watched the 
whole world, as it were, pay respect to the chosen head 
of our nation. The illness of the British Ambassador 
gave to his wife the honor of heading the diplomatic 
corps. She was accompanied by her daughter. Fol- 
lowing her came the Ambassadors of Germany, Rus- 
sia, France, Mexico, and Italy; the Ministers from 
Switzerland, China, and so on, — one moving body of 
glittering uniforms and handsome women’s beautiful 


150 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


attire, as many of the representatives of the various 
governments were accompanied by ladies. 

We were particularly attracted by the Supreme 
Court; and admired the representatives of the army 
and navy, as well as the Congress of the United 
States. Moving in and out through the Red and 
Blue Rooms we saw almost every high official and 
government representative in Washington, to many 
of whom we were introduced by Mrs. Cushman or her 
friends. The friends were legion, and all of them 
seemed to be interested in us because we were Mrs. 
Cushman’s charges. 

We remained nearly three hours in the White 
House, and shall never forget that brilliant time as 
long as we live. 

Shortly after two we began receiving in our own 
home ; and from that time until evening we greeted 
and welcomed a host of visitors, all of whom seemed 
^^PPy again able to meet the widow of the 

great senator, whose memory they all respected. 

A day or two later we attended a large dinner party 
of young people given in honor of Marian Roslyn. 
There our clever Maxine first met young Patrick Mil- 
ler, who took her in to dinner. The two seemed en- 
tirely satisfied with each other from the moment of 
meeting; and it is a matter of history that both of 
them thanked their hostess more frequently than was 
absolutely necessary for providing them with such a 
charming partner. 

The dinner, which was such an enjoyable affair to 
everyone present, was followed by a tea at the house 
of a Secretary of State, — a very handsome function, 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 151 


at which we again met many of the highest members 
of the official Washington set. 

By this time the whole social Washington world 
seemed to know that our hostess was again respond- 
ing in person to the invitations sent to her, and every 
morning our letter basket was literally full to over- 
flowing. It was evident that we three girls were 
going to get our fill of social life. The assistance of 
all three of us was necessary to dispose of Mrs. Cush- 
man’s correspondence and engagements. Every 
morning we reported in her room for instructions and 
advice. Our duties performed, we were ready by 
three o’clock to sally forth and conquer. We all had 
what the American girl loves so dearly, a thoroughly 
good time, which included, I must confess, many a 
very enjoyable flirtation. 

After the White House, our greatest triumph and 
enjoyment was at the British Embassy. Very soon 
there came cards for tea. We were all delighted to 
get the invitation, for we had been so charmed with 
the Ambassadress when we had met her at the White 
House. When we entered the British Embassy, the 
first object which attracted our attention was a fine 
painting of Queen Victoria. Mrs. Alton, who had seen 
the Queen several times, pronounced it a beautiful 
likeness. Through a handsome room we passed to the 
wide doorway of an adjacent apartment which was 
guarded by screens. Here we were received by the 
Ambassadress. We were duly presented to her eldest 
daughter, and later to the Ambassador himself. We 
stayed to tea, which was served from two large tables, 
at each of which presided one of the daughters of the 


152 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


house. The ladies, though much occupied, managed 
to say a few words to all of us, and we were all im- 
pressed by their charm of manner and conversation. 
When we were passing through the ball room, Mrs. 
Cushman turned to us and told us of a ball at which 
she had been present in that very room, some years 
before, where she had danced with President Roose- 
velt. 

On Monday evening we attended a reception in a 
private house. It was given by a prominent lawyer 
and his wife, old residents of Washington, who had 
never belonged to the so-called official life. 

If one does not know Massachusetts Avenue, Wash- 
ington, D. C., he should know it, and also know that 
some of the homes situated along that noble thorough- 
fare are among the greatest in the land, — great be- 
cause of memories, present occupants, grandeur in 
size and elegance in furnishing. Among that class we 
found the lawyer’s home should be placed. Strains of 
sweet music greeted our ears; on entrance the per- 
fume of exquisite flowers met our senses, and the 
delightful atmosphere of a hospitable home filled 
with the most elegant people of the nation’s capital, 
satisfied our souls. We were greeted first by the host 
and hostess, and afterwards on every side by friends 
and acquaintances of Mrs. Cushman, many of whom 
we had already met once or twice. We passed through 
room after room, beautifully furnished, and every one 
with a wealth of the richest flowers, on out to the 
dining room where there was nothing lacking in any 
particular. On driving away from the splendid 
scene, we three girls felt poor indeed, and not one of 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 153 


us could keep back a remark about the barrenness and 
lack of elegance that characterizes our dear West. 
To be sure there are fine homes in Chicago, Omaha, 
St. Paul, Denver, and other cities, some of them, as 
buildings, finer perhaps than any here. But the en- 
tertainments given there seem to be in new houses, 
the newness being noticeable in the house, the grounds 
the furnishings, and then the people lack the repose 
of manner and easy familiarity with the world that is 
really one of the greatest charms of this Capital, 
called by Mrs. Cushman the drawing room of our 
nation. 

The remaining afternoons of the week were filled 
with luncheons, a visit to the Mexican Embassy and 
Turkish Legation, a trip to beautiful Arlington, 
Thursday afternoon being given to calls on the Sena- 
torial ladies, as the wives of Senators are called. We 
had, ere that Thursday, seen the three most beautiful 
women in Washington, even the most beautiful one, 
according to our ideas of beauty; the best connected 
woman in America ( and she ought to be classed among 
the country’s most beautiful women), and we had seen 
the highest in official rank. But on that Thursday af- 
ternoon, in a Massachusetts Avenue home, we saw the 
woman we thought best suited, with one other and 
our beautiful hostess, to reign in the White House, 
and strange to say, she is a Western woman by birth. 
She is the wife of a great Senator, and they are very 
rich. She is not a beautiful woman, as the word 
beauty is used with regard to face and form. But 
she is beautiful, majestic, capable, according to the 
requirements of our country. She is brilliantly edu- 


154 THE SENATOR'S SWEETHEART 


cated, and of superb manners. Her appearances 
can not fail to arouse enthusiasm, so magnetic is she. 
She knows half the people of her State and one-fourth 
of the nation, it would seem; and the whole, vast 
army of her acquaintances she can at once call by 
name. She is hospitable, dignified, a beautiful dress- 
er, and has the sweetest voice, sunniest smile, and 
purest English of any woman that I have ever met. 
Will this interesting woman ever be the mistress of 
the dear mansion within whose historic walls we first 
met her? We prophesy that she will. 

Our visit to Mount Vernon, going down and back 
by boat, was so far our most impressive experience. 
A visit to that lordly mansion, a treasure to a whole, 
mighty nation, impresses one with the personal dig- 
nity and importance of our first President and his 
lady. An American cannot enter the hallowed cham- 
bers in which they died without experiencing a per- 
sonal feeling that the mighty man and his helpmate 
were really his own. To visit all over the mansion 
and to examine its priceless treasures in furnishings 
and adornment is a privilege indeed, and adds greatly 
to one’s esteem of the great couple. Then to pass 
out and down the hill to the holiest tomb on American 
soil, the holiest because it contains the ashes of the one 
man who, more than all others, taught us how to en- 
dure and fight for liberty ; and how to love and treas- 
ure it when acquired, is like a benediction. Our coun- 
try has no other such shrine. 

On Saturday evening, between nine and ten, we 
all went over to the Austrian Embassy. After 
going up and leaving our wraps, we were ushered 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 155 


into one of the reception rooms where we waited some 
minutes for the Baroness, amusing ourselves with a 
game at cards. Promptly at ten the Baroness, beau- 
tifully dressed, her calm blue eyes and rich dark hair 
denoting her high breeding, stepped in among us, 
and we were again cordially greeted by her, as we had 
been that New Year morning at the White House. 
She had a few pleasant words for each one of us, 
then led the way across the great hall to her drawing- 
rooms. In these rooms she showed us many treasures 
and souvenirs, told us about her beloved Emperor and 
his unfortunate Empress, fine portraits of whom 
adorn the walls. A superb bronze bust of each fill the 
place of honor at the head of the rooms near the 
conservatory, into which our hostess took us. Such 
grace of speech and manner, coupled with personal 
beauty and presence, are enough to place this charm- 
ing woman among the foremost hostesses of any land, 
as she certainly is classed here and in her native 
country. 

Soon the rooms began to fill with the great Wash- 
ington world, who are glad of the opportunity to 
greet the Ambassador and his wife on their Sat- 
urday evenings at home, and as we had enjoyed 
our visit, we all took leave, hoping to again have the 
same pleasure. 

Another week we began well by attending the re- 
ception given by Dr. and Mrs. Talmage, to introduce 
one of their daughters. Their home on Massa- 
chusetts Avenue certainly never could have looked 
more splendid than on this occasion. Dr. Talmage 
never was connected with the official world ; but un- 


156 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


less it were at a reception of a daughter of a Presi- 
dent, it is doubtful if any private home here or else- 
where was ever entered by so many men of influence 
and authority, with their ladies. Men in the army 
and navy, diplomats, ministers, professors, authors, 
the good and great from all walks, on that day 
greeted the pretty young girl and her handsome, 
stately mother as they stood for hours side by side in 
that great room. And never had we seen so many 
floral tributes of the finest and costliest order. Flow- 
ers were everywhere. Banked on piano and mantels, 
hung on walls, in vases, on tables, hanging under 
the arches, their perfume sweetening the atmosphere 
already redolent with the aroma of friendship, admir- 
ation, hospitality, all that vast company of agreeable 
qualities which can only be summoned in company by 
the good and useful. So great was our pleasure 
while in this home, where we met and conversed with 
famous and useful men, beautiful and good women, 
that for long the spell of it all was with us. Marian 
remarked as we walked homeward: 

“Now, I suppose that is genius ; or is it goodness, 
or is it fame.^ I can’t understand. I only know 
that I have enjoyed myself more during the past two 
hours than I have ever before enjoyed myself in a 
month.” Then turning to her sister, who on that 
occasion joined us, asked: 

“Norma, why is it that Dr. Talmage’s reception gave 
us so much pleasure.? What do you think is the rea- 
son for it.? He is not the greatest man in Washing- 
ton, is he.?” 

“He may not be,” was the answer, “but he cer- 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 157 

tainly is among the great ones of earth, and for 
years and years he has been preaching and teaching 
the gospel of love, the greatest power in the world. 
He has'- preached it so long and so well that his 
hearers and readers are imbued with his feelings, and 
this occasion is proof of the goodness of the man, the 
soundness of his work, by which alone he is known. 
The hearts of men and women go out to him and his 
in this manner. You have been present on one such 
occasion and are witnesses of the power of goodness. 
That is all I think about it.” 

Then she stopped and we walked on in silence to 
our own beautiful home. 


CHAPTER XXIL 


I N the big stone legation over on the comer of 
Eighteenth and Q Streets there lived one of the 
most wonderful men in this country, and his 
household was a remarkable one too. Mr. Wu Ting- 
fang, Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipoten- 
tiary to the United States from China, combines racial 
stoicism with Western knowledge and training. It 
is claimed that the man often puzzles the diplomats 
with whom he is brought into contact, and that to the 
most competent character student and mind reader he 
is unfathomable. But no matter about these points, 
it is not denied that the affable diplomat is a great 
favorite, and like everybody else in our country, we 
girls were eager to visit the man in his legation and 
to meet his wife. We had seen them both at the 
White House on New Year’s, and much admired the 
man then for the attention he paid to his wife as he 
escorted her before the President’s line and through 
that crowd of noted men and women in the Blue and 
Red parlors, after greeting our Chief Magistrate and 
Mrs. Roosevelt. 

Mrs. Cushman told us we would meet him soon, as 
he often came in on Sunday evening to visit with her 
and her friends. One evening he came in and a few 
days later Madame Wu and one of the Secretaries 
called, riding up in her handsome locomobile. The 
Secretary helped the dainty lady to the street, and 
our butler quickly stepped out to assist her up the 
steps. We were all very happy on that Thursday of 

158 



Madame Wu 

“We were all very happy on that Thursday of Madame’s 
call.’^ 














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THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 159 


Madame’s call. She is a most interesting woman and 
speaks some English. Soon after her visit we re- 
ceived cards for their New Year At Home, which was 
our February 8, at which we marvelled greatly. 

We all attended the affair, where all of Washing- 
ton’s great world was again seen. The legation is an 
immense building, the whole lower floor comprising 
the state apartments. The reception hall is very 
wide and roomy, and from it open parlors on the 
right and left, and there leads from it the grand 
stairs, and also a pretty little flight of steps which 
lead to a small balcony in the lofty, beautiful ball 
room. All the walls and windows of this room were 
made beautiful with silken hangings and embroid- 
eries, and there are little music balconies, and fancy 
windows, and picturesque alcoves all about. The 
whole place is a dream of beauty. 

In the largest parlors, to the left, the Minister and 
his wife, assisted by some American ladies of rank, 
received their guests. The Minister received with 
covered head. Madame Wu wore her hair plainly 
coiled but beautifully adorned with jewels, and shin- 
ing almost equal with the brightness of her jewels. 
The Minister always wears a tiny black cap with a 
small diamond button just in front, and a fancy little 
ornament on the top. Both wore handsome silk gar- 
ments, and the lady stood much of the time, although 
she had just by her a high seat so as to sit every 
moment that she might wish to do so. The big 
crowd surged through the parlors and ball room, 
into the state dining room, a lofty, handsome apart- 
ment. On passing through the parlor leading to the 


160 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


dining room, we met the first Secretary and his wife, 
both of whom shook hands and said some words of 
greeting. This lady, surely not more than four and 
a half feet in height, was the most beautiful object 
in the building. Her black hair was parted in the 
middle and combed straight down and back over her 
ears, and coiled at the back, her one ornament being 
a beautiful pink rose in her hair. Her strait silk 
garments were very rich, and her tiny feet were of 
but little service to her as she had to sit most of the 
time. Her face was as white and calm as marble, 
her lips painted a cherry red, and her eyes as black as 
night. The lady speaks a few words of English, 
and is the mother of a sweet baby born here in 
Washington. Her husband is a big man and ap- 
peared very proud of his beautiful wife as he intro- 
duced her. 

We tarried rather late and by invitation took re- 
freshments in the dining room with his Excellency, 
Madame, and their clever son, unlike any other young 
person in our country, and seven of the Secretaries. 
Our party of five comprised the only foreigners, ex- 
cept Madame Kwai, who is a Connecticut lady mar- 
ried to one of the legation attaches. She was pres- 
ent with us. Her husband was in European attire, 
and she and her children dressed a la Americaine. It 
was truly an interesting half hour as we all mingled 
there in the state dining room. Then we passed 
again into one of the parlors, where his Excellency 
chatted most interestingly with us, and before we 
passed out, after two hours of great pleasure, a half 
hour of which was really spent in the Orient, as it 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 161 

were, was good enough to explain to us his country’s 
New Year. 

He said: 

“You ask why this is the Chinese New Year? 
Well, I will tell you. The day changes each year, 
but it is not your sun day, for the Chinese calendar 
is computed by the moon. To-day is the day that is 
observed throughout China and among the Chinese 
in all parts of the world except America, because it 
is the twenty-ninth day, or last of the third 
moon. 

“But the Chinese in America celebrate New Year 
day a day ahead of the proper time of observance. 
Yesterday with them was the New Year. The proper 
day is to to-day. Do you know why yesterday was 
celebrated in the ‘Chinatowns’ throughout the United 
States.? It is because they do not know anything 
about geography or philosophy. 

“The pioneers among the Chinese in America were 
coolies, who came here to work as laborers. Say they 
started from China on the first day of the third moon. 
They counted one, two, three, and so on, paying no 
attention to the fact that at the 180th meridian they 
lost one day. As a consequence when they arrived in 
San Francisco they were one day behind, and those 
that followed them to this country made the same 
mistake. 

“When I came here as Minister five years ago, I 
told the Chinese of San Francisco of their mistake, 
and issued a proclamation pointing it out to them 
and advising them to observe the correct day. But 
some of the ‘highbinders’ argued that they had been 


16S THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


celebrating New Year a day ahead for many years, 
and why should they change ! 

“I also pointed out the mistake to the Chinese here 
in Washington, and they celebrated the correct day 
just one year. Why? Because in that year they 
lost money in the conduct of their business, and held 
that the changing of the New Year day had brought 
them bad luck.” 


CHAPTER XXm. 


A LITTLE while before the Chinese Minister’s 
beautiful New Year At Home, where we en- 
joyed ourselves so much and where our ex- 
periences were so novel, Mrs. Cushman had been in- 
duced to resume her Sunday evenings as before the 
Senator’s death. These were, from the first, occa- 
sions of great interest and pleasure to us. Men and 
women of worth and note called, and the evening 
from about four until eleven was unlike almost any 
other experience to be had in this country. Here 
met foreigners of distinction, and our own people 
worth knowing. They mingled freely and the con- 
verse was of interest beyond compare. But few women 
in any country or time have been able to draw to- 
gether so many desirable people. To enter the beau- 
tiful rooms about ten or eleven o’clock and note the 
air of the guests, listen to the sweet, half-subdued 
sound of voices from so many climes, the ease and 
charm of manner of the hostess who never seems to 
make an effort, or even to suggest exertion, is to re- 
call scenes of the times of the French Salon, the time 
of which we read with so much pleasure when such 
women as Madame Roland, Madame de Stael, Madame 
Recamier, and other brilliant women of that brilliant 
epoch held sway. 

One evening we entertained at the same time the 
Turkish Minister and his two chief secretaries; a 
Russian Countess in the person of that splendid wom- 
an, Anna Josephine, whose knowledge of the world, 
and whose ease and bearing, whose talents and gra- 

163 


164 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


ciousness of heart, are seldom equalled by any one 
of less noble birth; two handsome young gentlemen 
from the Philippines, Messrs. Abreu and Torres, 
both of whom were correctly dressed and able to 
speak our language fluently, and whose manners were 
most pleasing; two charming women of the English 
nobility; a member of the Persian legation; Dr. 
Hughes, one of our Consul-Generals (a man who 
wears almost more medals of honor and merit upon 
his broad breast than any man in our country, hon- 
ors given him for his services to humanity and for 
bravery on the field) ; an Austrian Prince of wealth 
and a prince among men; and one or two men from 
the far West, frontiersmen. The Countess and his 
Excellency conversed altogether in French, all the 
others in English. Around the table where, for that 
occasion, Mrs. Cushman had her guests sit down for 
the dainty refreshments she offered, there were rep- 
resentatives from seven states of our Union and seven 
foreign countries, not including the Philippine repre- 
sentatives. One of the finest thinkers of our times, or 
of any times, says that “Culture alters the political 
status of an individual.” It raises a kind of royalty, 
so to speak. In this respect Mrs. Cushman, whose 
training, it is true, has been one of the best the 
political and social life of our country has afforded, 
betrays her kingly, or rather queenly blood. In this 
quality of drawing people around her, she has cre- 
ated for herself unconsciously an independence which 
a monarch might almost envy, a following of the 
kind unknown, I verily believe, to any other woman 
in the Americas. 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 165 


A few such evenings of pleasure and peculiar in- 
terest in our own home, with the one spent in the 
Chinese and Austrian legations, were destined, how- 
ever, to be excelled by one of greater dramatic and 
historical worth. One of the frontiersmen mentioned 
above as being present the night of the Turkish 
Minister’s visit, is a character whose like is not often 
met with. Colonel Plunkett is a son of the “old sod.” 
Plunkett belongs to Oklahoma where his great head, 
hands, and heart find a wide field of usefulness. But 
his special weakness is for the Indians. On arriving 
in the city he felt one of his first duties was to pay 
his respects to the widow of the great Senator, whom 
he had for long known and admired. One evening 
about nine be called, and in lieu of a visiting card 
asked for by our ceremonious Sam, he sent up an 
envelope from which he had taken the letter. Our 
beautiful Duchess, so named by Mrs. Alton, had just 
put on bonnet and wrap to go out for an evening 
with us and several others in the Bungalow of one of 
the best known writers in Washington. She came 
down the stairs and met the big fellow there in the 
red-lighted reception room, looking as she is, a queen 
among women. She introduced the Colonel to every 
one of the party, but she could not invite him to 
accompany us, and he did not offer to go, and 
time was speeding. Taking in the character of the 
caller, and knowing as she full well does that many 
persons of his character have no idea at all of the 
passing of time, Mrs. Alton came to the rescue by 
asking Mrs. Cushman to be allowed to take charge of 
her visitor, and urged us all off for an evening with 


166 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


the author. Of course, with her tact and ready 
knowledge, the Colonel was soon at his best, and the 
evening’s entertainment of the woman, for she let 
him talk on and on, was simply a retouch to her 
memory of years of life on the frontier. Once she 
asked a few questions, and in answer learned that the 
Colonel knew very well the fiend whose bullet had 
made her a widow, that he and one or two of the 
ring-leaders in the tragedy that threw her out into 
life’s turgid stream alone, are residents of the only 
section of the country in which they, and men of 
their kind, can possibly make a living. His interest 
was great, and it was one o’clock when the poor 
woman was compelled to ask the gallant westerner to 
accompany her to the post-box to get oflp a most 
important letter. She thus made him realize the time 
and he bade her good night. 

His next visit was to request the privilege of bring- 
ing to see Mrs. Cushman and her guests some of his 
Indian friends then in the city on bureau affairs. The 
request was granted for a Sunday evening, and the 
more readily of course from Mrs. Cushman’s own 
acquaintance with red men, and the fact of her 
grandfather’s long years spent among them out there 
on the western plains. 

Plunkett and his proteges called about 5 :30. These 
were four Pawnee Indians named Roaming Chief, a 
big fellow measuring more than six feet and weigh- 
ing over 200 pounds, with his long black hair in 
shining braids and his feet encased in handsome 
white moccasins, beautifully beaded; Knife Chief, 
Knoun the Leader, and Sah-ko-ru-tah, meaning the 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 167 


coming sun — a well-educated, neatly groomed man, 
known among the palefaces as James Murie. This 
name was given him by the missionaries when he 
entered the Indian school at Genoa, Nebraska, where 
he was educated and in which state he was born. 
Their dinner was served early, between 5:30 and 7 
o’clock, in order that the evening might be devoted 
to reminiscences and exchange of greetings. 

It so happened that while the party was at dinner. 
Major McLaughlin, of North Dakota, and Colonel 
Wright, of Indian Territory, both United States In- 
dian inspectors, called, accompanied by six Sioux 
named Thunder Hawk, Mad Bear, Red Tomahawk, 
Standing Soldier, George Shiaka, Wolcott Wakute- 
main and their chief, L. P. Poimeau, of Pierre, S. D., 
who is also an interpreter and a well-educated man. 
Though for many years the Sioux and Pawnee tribes 
have been bitter enemies, they have been at peace 
since the General Custer massacre on the Little Big 
Horn River in the summer of 1876. 

During the week the visiting representatives of the 
two tribes met in the boarding house to which they 
had gone on arriving here. On the occasion of the 
meeting one of the Pawnees said to the Sioux : 

“Now is a good time to make friends. Our people 
have been at war so long.” But the grim old Sioux 
would not answer. 

Soon after the second party of Indians came in, 
Mrs. Cushman and Mrs. Alton came down the stairs 
to see before them a picture rare in itself, rarer still 
in the fact of it being in this home. The Sioux had 
been ushered into the drawing room, where they ap- 


168 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


peared to be comfortable on satin chairs and amidst 
luxurious furnishings. The Pawnees, on leaving the 
table, seated themselves in the wide and hospitable 
reception room, where the soft red lights gave to 
their dusky faces a peculiar beauty. As the ladies 
descended there came to the memory of Mrs. Alton 
a fierce onset between the tribes represented by the 
Indians present. The battle had been fought because 
the warriors met as the Sioux were coming from the 
Wolf Valley from whence they were driving the fine 
herds of ponies belonging to the Pawnees. The place 
was not far from the river, in the Platte Valley, some 
miles northwest from Platteville, Nebraska. At that 
time (1873) nearly all that part of the state eastward 
to the Missouri River was occupied by the Pawnees. 
One of the everyday sights in the Nebraska of those 
times was that of long freight trains passing over the 
Union Pacific line with car after car carrying from 
two to eight and ten Pawnee Indians wrapped in 
blankets, sitting on the center board across the top 
of the car. They acquired the privilege of so travel- 
ing by giving their permission for the railroad to 
pass through their lands. 

Chief Poimeau then presented his braves by care- 
fully pronouncing each name and telling a few 
words about the Indian. He introduced Standing 
Soldier as an Indian police, and the man seemed 
really proud of his badge, and his brass buttons bear- 
ing the imprint of the shield and Stars and Stripes, 
Uncle Sam’s seal. Red Tomahawk he declared to be 
the Henry Clay of his nation. Each one shook hands 
with those introduced. For some time, and while 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 169 


other guests were arriving, the Chiefs conversed freely 
with those who desired to talk with them. Especially 
were the two English ladies anxious to talk with Chief 
Poimeau. He is really a fine specimen of manhood 
and very interesting to talk with as his life has been 
one of many experiences, and he is yet a young man. 

As no evening of sociability spent in this home is 
considered finished without music, the guests were 
invited up to the music room. Once they were all 
within the chamber dedicated to the sweetest of the 
arts, the Indians were much interested in a Navajo 
rug, even more so than in the music. After this a 
bufPet supper was served in the dining-room. 

While the evening’s guests, including about twenty- 
five white persons, representing ten states, and the 
ten Indians, were standing around the beautifully 
decorated table with its abundance of good eatables, 
the Colonel stepped forward and raising his glass, 
asked all to drink to the health and future happiness 
of our beautiful hostess. This was done heartily, 
when he continued, and in very well chosen words 
thanked the hostess for the pleasures afforded to him 
and his friends from Oklahoma and Indian Territory. 
He said the Indians would, on their return home, 
relate with pride to their people the evening’s ex- 
periences, and spoke with feeling of their memory of 
a kindness shown them. 

The Pawnee chief, James Murie, then stepped for- 
ward to the edge of the circle formed round the 
table by the party of twenty or thirty present, and in 
the softest voice and purest English, thanked Colonel 
Plunkett for his complimentary words for his people; 


170 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


told of the goodness of heart and many kindnesses of 
the Colonel for the Indians, and how he is loved and 
trusted by them, and added his thanks and those of 
his brother Pawnees to the hostess and her friends. 

Here it all might have ended and ended beautifully 
to the mind of all present. But it was only the begin- 
ning. While Murie was speaking. Major McLaughlin 
had gone into the drawing room and reception room 
and recalled his Sioux who had withdrawn from the 
dining room the moment they finished eating. On 
Murie closing his remarks, the Major said to Mrs. 
Cushman, “If it is your pleasure. Madam, my men 
will render to you thanks for this evening’s pleasures 
in their customary manner.” She answered: 

“I am willing and ready. Major,” and at the same 
moment stepped forward as if for presentation. There 
before the crowd, in easy, graceful attitude, one hand 
resting on the table, the tall, handsome woman in 
black stood, when just before her stepped the “old 
man eloquent” of his tribe. Before the old Indian 
spoke, Mrs. Cushman asked the interpreter, Poimeau, 
to stand near him so as to interpret his speech. Then 
Red Tomahawk, dropping his hands by his side, be- 
gan to speak, never for one moment taking his eyes 
from the face of the woman just before him. He 
said: 

“It gives me and my brothers great pleasure to be 
in this home this evening, the home of the woman 
who was the wife of a great and good man. We are 
proud of the hospitality we have enjoyed in the home 
of the great man who was by his Government sent 
across the big water to make peace between Spain 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 171 


and our country. We have often heard about him 
and his work, and have read much about him. On 
our return to our homes it will give us great happi- 
ness to relate to our people all the pleasures of this 
evening here in this handsome, hospitable home.” 

Then raising his eyes upward and turning his 
palms forward and upward in a graceful manner un- 
like any action possible in a white man, the brave old 
warrior continued: 

“And the stars witness our gratitude to this woman 
for her hospitality, and may she be happy and her 
years m any.” Then he stood as when he began speak- 
ing, while Chief Poimeau quickly interpreted the 
words. It was all so beautifully done, and the happy 
sentiments of the Sioux orator and statesman were 
hardly interpreted when Chief Murie stepped again 
to the front and in the place where the interpreter had 
stood by the side of the Sioux, said : 

“Before the days of those present here to-night, 
the Pawnees and Sioux were enemies. They fought 
one another. They have never made peace. Now I 
am glad to say that I am proud to be in this house 
where the representatives of two great nations that 
were long at war and were enemies, say ‘how’ to each 
other and can take each by the hand and have peace.” 

As quickly as he had spoken the words he ad- 
vanced and offered his hand to the old man eloquent, 
the Sioux orator, who still stood as when he was 
speaking. The friendly Pawnee hand thus extended 
was warmly grasped by the old Sioux, while all the 
palefaces presented cheered and clapped hands at the 
dramatic and touching act. The speaker was warmly 


172 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


congratulated, and all the Indians shook hands, and 
said some word to each other. After so happy a mo- 
ment the Sioux and their interpreters departed. 

After the Sioux had passed out the four Pawnees 
stood in a circle and sang in low, soft voices a pretty 
good-by song ending with that bird-like cry, “Hi ye, 
he ye.” Then they, too, passed out into the night, 
at peace with all the world, each with a smile on his 
face, the big roaming chief looming over all, so tall 
and square his build. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


O NE memorable day we visited Mrs. General 
Grant in her Massachusetts Avenue home. 
The famous woman, in company with an in- 
teresting granddaughter and one of her sisters-in- 
law, was in a happy state of mind and health, and 
conversed freely with her guests. 

To the visitor, on entering the drawing-room, after 
passing through the wide, hospitable hall, and up 
the grand stairs, the scene presented was not unlike 
the one enjoyed when ushered into the presence of 
Queen Victoria in her private apartments in Windsor 
Castle. Mrs. Grant, dressed in a rich, black velvet 
robe, with a Point lace fichu, her hair in coil and curl, 
her pretty hands adorned with a few valuable rings, 
sat at the farther end of the drawing room, but arose 
on the entrance of any visitor. 

Her ready smile, happy converse, and fine state of 
health, gave great pleasure to her friends. She talked 
with us of her book of memoirs, of her happy days in 
the White House, of her travels, and of her happiness 
in her children and grandchildren, rising from her 
chair and bringing from another room portraits of 
her promising grandson now in West Point, and of 
his beautiful sister, the Princess Cantacuzene, with 
one of her great-grandchild, the infant son of the 
Princess. One of us told the famous woman how glad 
it made us to read in a magazine something she had 
written about her happy life while in the White 
House; that she was the only woman who had ever 

*73 


174. THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


spoken so freely of her brilliant days in that mansion. 
She answered: 

‘T was indeed very happy there, and I saw no rea- 
son I should not say so. If it gave any pleasure to 
the public to have the few simple words from me, I 
am twice happy. It is a sweet home, and the position 
of one occupying it is certainly a proud one. To 
me it is not clear how any one so situated could be 
otherwise than happy.” 

The Grant home, in situation and general atmos- 
phere, was in every respect becoming to the gracious 
hostess, the sweetheart, wife and widow of the famous 
warrior and statesman. 

At dinner we talked of our visit to Mrs. Grant and 
of the many women who have had proud place, widows 
of noted men, who make the Capital their home. 
Among them we found Mrs. John Russell Young a 
most interesting woman. On being presented to the 
tall, slender, middle-aged lady with a wide-awake, 
pleasant manner, we mentioned having lately read her 
fine article on Li Hung Chang, whom she and Mr. 
Young knew very well, and who, while in this coun- 
try, visited them at their hotel in Philadelphia. This 
pleased her greatly. Then we told her of our visit 
just made to Mrs. Grant. The statement interested 
her at once and led her to tell us of some enjoyable 
incidents in the Grant tour of the world, as her hus- 
band, Mr. John Russell Young, so well known to the 
newspaper reading public as Gath, was the corres- 
pondent (historian in fact), of that never-to-be-for- 
gotten triumphal progress of our greatest soldier and 
his party. Gath will long be remembered as one of 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 175 


the most brilliant writers of his century. Mrs. Young 
is herself a very pleasing writer, and one with a 
bright, well-stored mind. She told us in a charm- 
ing manner of some of her happy experiences, of her 
meeting with noted personages from all over the 
world, by reason of her gifted husband’s position. 
She declares there are few positions in which a man 
can place a woman, equal in advantage for seeing and 
learning, to that of the wife of a brainy, energetic 
magazine or newspaper editor, writer, or correspond- 
ent. To an appreciative woman, she declares such a 
position to be as if a panorama of the world were un- 
folding before one, and while it is unfolding the 
gamut of experiences is run. One gets a close view 
of all the world’s actions, and generally the reason for 
every part taken. 

After dinner there called a party of interesting 
gentlemen whom we had not before met. One of the 
strangers, two of which party had just come to town, 
was a member of the London Telegraph staff, and it 
goes without saying, a brilliant man. The other 
stranger was Major Jeffries, of Chicago, just home 
from the Philippines, where he distinguished himself 
by his heroic conduct. Another was an agreeable 
fellow of fine appearance, but of no remarkable social 
attainments unless it were his ability at the chafing 
dish. During the course of the evening this man got 
it back at us in fine style, and just when least ex- 
pected, too. The journalist and Mrs. Cushman were 
at once interested in each other, while to the other 
ladies present fell the agreeable part of entertaining 
the remainder of the party, among whom was Lee 


176 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


Carroll, of the city, a young man in whom Mrs. Alton 
had expressed herself as having a lively interest. 
Mrs. Cushman sent up to the den for her, as she knew 
how happy it would make her friend to meet the 
party, especially young Carroll, the brother by mar- 
riage to Thurston Wales, a man admired by Mrs. 
Alton, and whose career she had watched since that 
Fourth of July in 187 — , when he was the orator 
of the day in the town of Midvale in the valley where 
so much of her life had been spent. 

On entering the room, Mrs. Alton was introduced 
to the others, but to Lee Carroll she needed no intro- 
duction, for she recognized the young man as being 
the image of his beautiful sister, Mrs. Wales, upon 
whom she had called, and whom she had met a few 
times elsewhere. She stepped up to him quickly and 
told him this. They were at once mutually interested, 
and talked for long about Senator Wales, and the 
early days on the frontier, the woman being delighted 
to find the young man so familiar with the West, its 
people and their customs, the habits of mind and of 
living of that energetic people beyond the Missouri. 

In that western country in those days, one who was 
building character or bent on making a place for him- 
self in the world, was quickly noticed by the people. 
There were then mostly if not all disadvantages. 
For one able to surmount drawbacks and make for 
the front was to meet with encouragement from all 
sides. Thurston Wales was that kind of a man. 
His beginning was indeed humble, but his efforts were 
intelligent and continuous. With such a combina- 
tion there could be but one result. Thurston Wales 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 177 


rose rapidly. He and Mr. Alton were close friends 
and it was the latter who first named the brilliant 
young lawyer for the United States Senate. He did 
not live to see his nomination go through, but his 
death was the event that proved to his friends the 
manhood of his choice. When Mr. Alton was buried 
and the preliminaries of the trial or prosecution of 
the man or men who had taken his life were in 
progress, his widow and friends tried to secure the 
services of Thurston Wales, then one of the fore- 
most lawyers in the State, to conduct the prosecution. 
It so happened, however, that the man could not, for 
pressure of other affairs then in hand, take the case, 
and he so explained to them. But the enemies of the 
murdered man and persecutors of the widow who 
undertook to carry on his work, would not have it so, 
and circulated the report that Thurston Wales had 
been retained by the defense. The widow was for 
the moment nearly crushed. Then she rallied and 
wrote to the man whom she had so long admired, 
whom her husband had for long been praising. She 
wrote him she had been told that he had taken the 
prisoner’s case, but that she could not, would not be- 
lieve the statement unless it came from him. As quick 
as telegraph could carry the message her answer 
came: 

“I never yet have turned against a friend and am 
too old now to begin. 

“Thurston Wales.” 

From that moment Mrs. Alton almost reverenced 
the man, as she had for long admired him. Not very 


178 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


long after he was elected to the United States Senate, 
but the two never met after Mr. Alton’s death, until 
they met here in Washington, although during all 
these years the strong, successful man had befriended 
and helped in many ways, whenever asked, the widow 
of his long-time friend. 

On meeting the Senator’s relative, Mrs. Alton was 
most happy to find the young man all that one could 
ask in appearance and in intelligence. 

Lee Carroll was born in Washington while his 
father, a Republican, was a Representative in Con- 
gress from Florida. He had had an interesting ca- 
reer, some years of which were spent in the navy, as it 
was the intention of his family that he should give 
his life to that branch of his country’s service. But 
the young man’s mind underwent a change, and he 
obtained a position in Washington, where life was 
more to his taste, where he met the greatest men of 
our country, and many of the leading ones from most 
other countries. This meeting in Mrs. Cushman’s 
home was another remarkable one, the meeting of 
Mrs. Alton, who had spent years on the plains, and 
the young man who has been for so long a close per- 
sonal friend to the man whose career has been so full 
of interest, achievement, honor. 

If I mention this meeting it is to show by another 
example how the life of our nation circulates through 
our national capital. Both of the presiding spirits 
of this household are western-born women. How one 
of them has been so placed as to become an object of 
attraction, her home a center for the meeting of the 
good, the useful and great has been shown by the 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 179 


sketch of Mrs. Cushman; that the other should be 
blessed with the home to which she has been drawn 
by the sweet ties of love, sympathy, friendship, 
loyalty, was most remarkable when considering her 
beginning, her early environments, her career as a 
wage-earner. Surely hers has been a charmed life, 
if not certainly her life has been an experience of 
much charm. I do not think any other country can 
afford her parallel in experiences and self-making. In 
these times we hear much of self-made men, and in no 
country are there so many of them as here. So well 
have these men-makers done their work that now they 
have arrived at the dignity of a name and soon they 
will out-rank all men of whatsoever calling, these 
“Captains of Commerce,” just as their nation, like 
individuals, has had its successive stages. 

It was of this subject, the subject of Mrs. Alton 
coming into her life, that Mrs. Cushman and the 
journalist were talking when the party was sum- 
moned from the drawing room for a dainty supper 
prepared under the guidance of the genial Colonel 
Russell. The brilliant couple talked on and instead 
of the merry banter and light vein usually the rule 
on such occasions (for it was nearly midnight and 
not an old person in the party), they drew all the 
others into their discussion. It came to pass, as if 
a great picture of our stupendously grand and rich 
country were hanging before our eyes there in the 
beautiful dining-room. We seemed to see clearly all 
the new occasions that had bred new duties in the 
career of our nation. The Englishman referred to 
the fact that for five and thirty years we have been 


180 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


building up a gigantic internal strength; spoke of 
our almost insular isolation from the contentions of 
the world, as being the cause of our “stupendous 
wealth of life and possibility, a brain and brawn 
wholly beyond its mere necessities of existence.” Then 
it was that Mrs. Cushman turned and from a nearby 
table took a copy of an evening paper and read in 
a manner and with a voice luilike any other, the fol- 
lowing few beautiful sentences from the speech of 
Rev. Dr. Green, of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, delivered 
that day at Mt. Vernon, on our nation’s greatness : 

“Through piping times of peace the brain and 
brawn of our nation have been organizing mighty 
commercial enterprises, building thousands of miles 
of railroads, weaving a web of mighty development 
over vast plains and turning deserts into gardens. 
They have been blasting into the very heart of the 
mountains and taking from the riches of the earth 
stores of silver and gold, thinking all this was merely 
for internal strength and domestic use — and so, like 
a huge Caliban, our nation has tugged and toiled 
away. But now it has suddenly awakened to a new 
consciousness. With a jar that has shaken many 
cherished conventionalities, some mighty power has 
roused this nation from its contented lethargy, and 
rubbing its eyes and stretching out its mighty limbs 
and breathing in the air of this Twentieth Century 
with its mighty lungs, it has come to suddenly rea- 
lize that our flag is absolutely, among all the nations 
of the earth, the one unconquered flag ; to realize that 
by a power it could not resist it has been forced into 
the arena of the world’s great concerns, and that every 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 181 


ear is opened and every voice is stilled to hear what 
this nation has to say. It has realized as it stretches 
out its brawny arm, that it is the resistless dynamic 
of the Twentieth Century and it knows it — and the 
world knows it — and wherever that flag is unfurled 
to the smile of heaven this nation knows and the 
world knows there is no hand strong enough and no 
heart stout enough to dare to tear it down. The na- 
tion did not seek that consciousness. No dreamer 
dreamed, no contriver fashioned, no ambition devised 
the happenings of these later days. Resistless as 
the march of the silent stars came the tremendous 
dynamics of destiny. Quiet in her contented peace, 
the nation lay, basking in her own prosperity, mag- 
nifying petty issues into grave concerns to stir the 
sluggish currents of her blood — when, in a moment 
of which we had never dreamed, when we had no 
arms, no ships, nor needed any, in a way no man 
could have fancied, in the wildest phantasm of a 
vision — God reached down and took this nation, and 
with a sweep of His omnipotent arm flung her forth 
to the very confines of the earth and placed in her 
hands that flag and said : ‘Stand there and mark the 
way for the march of liberty.’ And the nation went ! 
For when God flings forth that flag it never comes 
back to the carping of the doctrinaire or to the dark 
valleys of pessimism and fear. It stands bathed in 
the morning light on the hilltops of the future and 
beckons the life that is behind it to come up and 
stand there, the color guard of freedom ! And so she 
stands to-day. So she faces another climax in her 
destiny. We have our fears and they oppress us; we 


1S2 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


have our doubts and they distress us; we shall make 
our mistakes and suffer for them; but with a holy 
optimism, whose confidence rests upon the matchless 
story of the past, we know that this nation, con- 
ceived and born, safeguarded and kept by the very 
power of God, shall neither falter nor fail as before 
her opens the pathway she must go.” 

This pleasing and effective act on the part of our 
hostess helped the journalist out beautifully, and at 
the same time drew out others at the table, and all 
brought about by the conversation in the drawing 
room having turned on the subject of the career of 
the quiet woman among us. The Major recited 
a poem; the journalist read a fine sketch; Lee Car- 
roll arose and in his best style made a little address 
in the course of which he mentioned his pleasure at 
meeting in such happy circumstances the bright wom- 
en from out the West, and related a few of his inter- 
esting experiences while campaigning out there with 
Senator Wales, only a few years ago. 

Colonel Russell could not be induced to recite a 
poem or make a speech, saying he preferred being last. 
Then it was that Mrs. Alton was called upon. For 
a moment she hesitated, but as all urged that she con- 
tribute something she arose, saying she would recite 
her favorite poem, that for years it had been the guide 
and stay of her times of discouragement and trial, 
but first, with the permission of her hostess and 
friends, she would tell them a pretty little bit of his- 
tory connecting her favorite poem with one of her 
favorite characters, namely Miss Frances E. Willard. 
Then she told of the journey of Miss Willard from 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 183 


London to Denver. It was the summer of 1892, or 
at any rate the summer of her mother’s death, and 
to but few noted men and women (useful, strong 
and brave men and women she meant), had a mother 
ever proved such a tower of strength as was the case 
with Miss Willard and her mother. Shortly after the 
grand woman was called to her long home the illus- 
trious daughter, accompanied by her great and good 
friend. Lady Henry Somerset, went from Evanston 
to England, for a season of rest and change. This 
meant a hurried journey home again should they at- 
tend that year’s national convention of the great or- 
ganization of the W. C. T. U., of which they were 
the leaders. They both came over from England, 
Miss Willard to lend her presence only, as her frail 
state of health would prevent her presiding over the 
deliberations of the week’s convention. Lady Henry 
to take the place of the invalid, to do her work. She 
then proceeded in the following words : 

“At the close of the convention the peerless woman 
made her appearance before the audience for the pur- 
pose of saying a few words of farewell, to acknowl- 
edge the numberless kindnesses done her and 
to say a few words in memory of her lamented 
mother. 

“As she appeared before the great convention, 
every woman of which body rose to greet her, every 
one waving a handkerchief or banner, the scene and 
moment were indescribable. The real picture before 
her was part of the one in her mind’s eye, the other 
part of the picture was that of her long, quick jour- 
ney. In the space of a few days she had left one of 


184 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


England’s splendid homes, the seat of a hundred 
earls, left London, the city of all others in the world 
like the heaving, moaning, restless, mighty ocean, the 
real whispering-gallery of the world ; had crossed the 
trackless sea to the shores of a New World, her na- 
tive land, and yet westward ho! Through the old 
settled States what thoughts came trooping into that 
lively mind. Then across the mighty Mississippi, on 
through peerless Iowa to the great Missouri, onward 
to where the vision meets what was only a little while 
ago the vast plains almost as trackless as the ocean 
left behind. Standing there before such an audience, 
an audience composed of women representing every 
State in the Union, and many of the builders of the 
magnificent city in which they were gathered, she 
saw the vast sweep of plains, and the mighty eleva- 
tion of mountains. She saw more ; for she thought of 
the onward march of a nation, a people dauntless, tire- 
less, as they have been since the beginning. She 
thought also that just as the magic city rises before 
one’s vision from the level of the plains, so has wom- 
an risen from the obscurity and darkness of centuries. 
Then, with eyes resting on the snow-capped peaks 
seen from the windows of the hall, came the thought 
of the spirit of the conqueror, the courage, endurance, 
faith, of a race of men and women, who could and 
had in the span of her years, converted the desert into 
a fertile land of homes, and reared that queenly mid- 
continent city. These thoughts she expressed in 
beautiful words, closing by saying : 

“ ‘My friends, the spirit of it all is expressed by the 
word onward, on, on ! The same spirit possessed Co- 



“one of England’s splendid homes^ the 
seat of a hundred earls.” 





THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 185 


lumbus when he set out on his journey to find a way 
in the world. If it was that spirit that discovered a 
world, is it not the same that has been over this 
mighty continent since the great voyager kissed these 
beloved shores But another has said it better than 
I can. Let me give you the words of your own un- 
daunted singer, Joaquin Miller’s ‘The Port of 
Ships.’ Then she stepped close to the edge of the 
platform and in the finest voice that was ever heard 
from pulpit or platform recited the matchless verses, 
recited them like one inspired with their fire, recited 
them as only Frances Willard could recite them. 
They were: 


Behind him lay the green Azores, 

Behind the gates of Hercules; 

Before him not the ghost of shores, 

Before him only shoreless seas. 

The good mate said, “Now must we pray, 
For lo! the very stars are gone. 

Brave Adm’ral speak — what shall I say?” 
“Why, say, ‘Sail on ! Sail on ! and on !’ ” 

“My men grow mutinous day by day; 

My men grow ghastly, wan and weak.” 
The stout mate thought of home; a spray 
Of salt water washed his swarthy cheek. 
“What shall I say, brave Adm’ral say. 

If we sight naught but seas at dawn?” 
“Why, you shall say, at break of day, 

‘Sail on ! Sail on ! Sail on ! and on !’ ” 


186 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, 
Until at last the blanched mate said: 

“Why, now not even God would know 
Should I and all my men fall dead. 

These very winds forget their way. 

For God from these dread seas is gone. 

Now speak, brave Adm’ral; speak, and say” — 
He said, “Sail on! Sail on! and on!” 


They sailed ! They sailed ! Then spake the mate : 

“This mad sea shows its teeth to-night ; 

He curls his lip, he lies in wait 
With lifted teeth as if to bite ! 

Brave Adm’ral say but one good word — 

What shall we do when hope is gone?” 

The words leaped as a leaping sword: 

“Sail on! Sail on! Sail on! and on!” 




After an evening of such pleasure (and many of 
its kind we enjoyed in this sweet home during those 
happy months), is it any wonder that friends were 
charmed with the atmosphere of Mrs. Cushman’s 
home? Is it any wonder that she and her friend are 
loved by a wide circle of choice spirits? 

When it was ended, and while the spell of it all was 
over us. Colonel Russell was again requested to con- 
tribute of his wit and eloquence. His ability to pro- 
vide an elegant little supper had proved so enjoyable 
that we had no doubt of his possessing many other 
accomplishments. But the witty fellow thought we 
had had enough of reason, poetry, soul, eloquence, and 
patriotism, and so murmured something about men’s 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 187 


ability to get on without books and some other enjoy- 
able things, but he knew that the world could not get 
on without cooks. 

And thus was spent another enjoyable, helpful day 
and long pleasure-filled evening. Really, looking to 
Mrs. Cushman whose career has been marked by 
pains-taking industry at self-culture, and care-tak- 
ing in giving pleasure to others ; to Mrs. Alton whose 
whole life has been one of study and effort, the whole 
matter of it all can be summed up in the words, “jt 
pays to try.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


O NE evening just before Mrs. Cushman went 
from Washington to join her ailing hus- 
band who yet did not know himself to 
be ill, she telephoned over to Mrs. Alton to join her 
for dinner, after which one or two others coming for 
them, they were to spend the evening at the Nor- 
mandie with some player folk, authors, and news- 
paper-writers. 

Always ready for an evening in such congenial 
company, the young woman was prompt to meet the 
engagement. 

On being ushered into the suite of the Bohemian 
couple, Mrs. Alton was presented to the host and 
hostess, after which the host introduced the party of 
four to the guests present. Picture the surprise of 
Wallace Somers and Norma Alton at such a meeting 
after so many years, and here in Washington! For 
one of the gentlemen first to arrive was that friend 
of the woman’s girlhood out there in the valley, and 
whose memory she had so long cherished. At the first 
moment the man was not sure. Yet could he ever 
forget that proud head, those wonderful eyes.'* Then 
he recalled the handsome presence that had attracted 
him at the Cushman Charity some months before. 
The name, too caught his ear instantly. He remem- 
bered the little story of Norma Roslyn sending away 
her lover, Wayne Alton, which she had told him there 
in the valley. 

After a few moments Mr. Somers took a seat by the 

i88 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 189 


side of the woman, and both having regained their 
composure, they told each other many things, re- 
called many happenings in the old days in Midvale. 

The company was so congenial, each member seem- 
ing to find the right one for his pleasure, that time 
passed all too quickly, as is always the case when con- 
genial spirits assemble. After a little supper the 
entire party departed with the intention of escorting 
Mrs. Cushman and her guest to their home near by. 
But once outside, the night being beautiful as only 
summer nights in Washington are beautiful, some one 
suggested a car ride to Cabin John. 

One of the gentlemen went back for the host and 
hostess, and when together/ they all took one of the 
big yellow cars at the Shoreham corner for the finest 
trip by car in or about Washington. On boarding the 
car Mr. Somers claimed Mrs. Alton for himself, and 
during the never-to-be-forgotten three happy hours 
spent on the trip, the two long separated friends 
learned all that had happened to each other during the 
past years. But Mrs. Alton did not tell the man how 
she had cherished his memory, nor, I think, did he 
quite realize the happiness that was hers on again 
meeting her ideal. That he experienced great pleas- 
ure at the meeting, that he was charmed by the wom- 
an whose girlhood days had been of so much interest 
to him, there was no doubt. 

Upon his own request that he might call to see her, 
Wallace Somers visited frequently at the Capitol Hill 
home. The couple had many enjoyable evenings to- 
gether, evenings with books, and visiting in the den ; 
outings on the cars; drives to the Soldiers’ Home; 


190 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


through Rock Creek Park, and even into the heart of 
Maryland. It was all too sweet to last. Then the 
vacation season ended and the visits ceased. It was 
better so, better for both of them. But Norma Alton 
was still the sole keeper of her secret. 

It is said that every heart has its own sorrow. It 
cannot be said that Wallace Somers had a heart’s sor- 
row. Neither can it be said that he was a happy 
man. He married a good woman, one who loved him 
dearly. But they were not much together owing to 
her poor health and the summer’s heat in Washington, 
and every man must have companionship. It is not 
only not good for man to be alone, but it is impossible 
for most of them. It certainly was with this dear fel- 
low. For some months he deprived himself of the 
visits he so enjoyed with the woman we all so love and 
esteem, while she lived there in the snadow of the 
Capitol dome. But he could not remain away from 
her. When, however, he called again she had gone 
to St. Anthony with Mrs. Cushman. Then he learned 
through the papers of their absence together, after 
which he came to this dear home to learn when they 
would return. 

After some weeks Mrs. Alton came back alone and 
it so happened that Wallace Somers called to see her 
the next evening. Happy? No woman ever greeted 
more sincerely the man of her choice! But neither 
of them could say or wished to say the words that 
came to their lips. He was too honorable; she too 
womanly, too proud. But no vow, not even pride, 
only God himself could have prevented him from 
taking the sweet woman in his arms, folding her to 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 191 


him. She allowed him to do this, allowed her head 
to rest for one moment upon the broad breast, then 
he kissed her, kissed her brow, her lips, and again 
and again pressing the woman to him in sweetest, ten- 
derest, embrace, released her and they sat down side 
by side on the divan, neither having uttered one word, 
and for some moments continued the silence, both 
thinking, thinking. Bye and bye he slipped one arm 
about her waist and drawing her to him, asked : 

“What can I say, Norma What can be said.? 
After all these months and you meet me thus. What 
a sweet woman you are,” and he would have kissed 
her again, but she arose and went to the window, from 
where she stood looking at the happy man, and he had 
no right to be so happy, to be so happy there with 
her. After a few moments for thought she crossed 
the room to him, but before she could speak, he had 
again folded her to him and was asking: 

“Are you happy, Norma.? Tell me, are you 
happy.?” And he would not release her. Then she 
spoke, and raising her hand as if to put him away 
from her, answered: 

“Yes, dear, sweet friend, I am happy, as I know 
you are. I will tell you the truth. But we have no 
right to be happy. This must never happen again. 
You are strong and brave. I will help you to be 
true, true to us both, Wallace! Will that help you?” 
His answer: 

“Tell me, Norma, sit here by me and tell me, why 
you never wrote to me, why you never answered my 
letters? If you had done so how different all might 
be now, how different everything might have been 


19^ THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


during all these years. You have not been happy, and 
God only knows your suffering and hardships. I 
know now, my sweet girl, that you love me, and in 
my heart I believe you have loved me all these years, 
that you loved me when I was there in the valley. 
Tell me, Norma; tell me, poor hungry me, if I am 
right. Don’t be proud, but tell me. It was all my 
mistake, Norma. I think I loved you, dear, the day 
of our waltz in the dining room of the hotel. How I 
have cherished your memory ! But there were always 
so many around you. You seemed to have so many 
admirers, and with all seemed so indifferent. But I 
admired you, I liked you. I was young and proud, 
and I did not like your situation, your surroundings. 
Then I never heard from you, and now — well it is too 
late. But tell me, Norma, tell me everything. Make 
me happy once by doing what I ask of you.” 

Sitting near him in her easy chair, one hand cov- 
ered by one of his strong, shapely ones, resting on its 
arm, Norma Alton told the man truly that she had al- 
ways loved him, and him only, but that never before 
had the words passed her lips, and she thought no one 
had ever even suspected it. She told him of Mr. Al- 
ton’s love for her, and that she had greatly admired 
the man, was really fond of him, had always had for 
him the very highest respect, and that she had tried 
to make him happy, and she believed she had done so. 

“But why should I tell you all this, my dear friend ? 
The telling of it cannot make you happy. There 
remains for us only a casual visit, maybe a sweet 
friendship. Now, has the telling made you happy?” 
she sweetly asked. 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 193 


“Strangely happy, Norma ; strangely happy. 
What a calm, restful woman you are ! Here by your 
side the world and its turmoil, a not too happy past, 
are all forgotten. Very similar has been our past, 
Norma, with regard to the heart’s history. But I 
suppose that with every couple one must love most. I 
know my wife loves me, but I do not take the solace in 
that that I should. Now that I am again with you, 
what will be the outcome? I must see you while you 
are where I can. I cannot, I will not keep away from 
you unless, of course, you forbid me coming.” 

For some time they talked on, and during the visit, 
Mrs. Alton told the man of Patrick Miller, of his 
coming into her life. He expressed a strong wish to 
meet and know the young fellow, saying that he must 
be an interesting and worthy man else she would never 
have been attracted by him. 

They agreed that there should be but casual visits 
from him, then the man went away, almost happy in 
the love of the sweet woman now so dear to him. 

This was the state of affairs between the man and 
Mrs. Alton when she came to live with our beautiful 
Duchess, the state of affairs when on the night of 
Patrick Miller’s first visit to this home, the two 
women talked so late there in Mrs. Cushman’s lovely 
chamber. 

Mrs. Cushman knew nothing of their past, did not 
know of their fondness for each other. She knew only 
of their sweet friendship until on that memorable 
night of the late talk in her room when her friend 
told her that she had loved the splendid and fascinat- 
ing man all these years, loved him while a girl, wife, 


194 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


and widow, and that never would she cease to love 
him. 

Mrs. Cushman invited Mr. Somers to her home sev- 
eral times for little dinner parties, each occasion prov- 
ing of great happiness, and the two friends have had 
some enjoyable visits ; a walk or two into the country; 
now and then a little dinner together. That was all. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


O NE evening at dinner Maxine promised Mrs. 
Alton to join her for a business woman’s 
luncheon on the morrow. We had been 
sharing so much high life, going at such a pace, that 
our friend thought it would be well for us to see an- 
other phase of life here at the Capital. Maxine 
bundled out of bed about half past eleven, got herself 
dressed and off for the big department to meet her 
friend at the entrance thereof at 12.30 noon. There 
stood the girl nervous as a girl can be, and almost 
frightened to death by the rush and hurry past her of 
the seven hundred and more employes who came 
streaming down the stairs and through corridors for 
the purpose of getting a few mouthfuls of food, a 
few moments of change, when they would go through 
the same mad rush back again to begin work at one 
o’clock. Promptly the girl was joined by her friend 
and they went over to the grand corridor of cripples 
and homely women, with its big flag, its fountain, 
its great columns and forest of stately plants. There 
were several tables in one end of the great court, on 
which were found nearly all kinds of eatables and 
drinkables. Behind these tables were obliging men 
(most of them cripples or in some way disabled), 
and women to serve quickly the wants of 
the hurrying hundreds of employes of the Gov- 
ernment, all of whom stand wherever there is 
found room, except in a few cases of women who 
have boxes or camp stools hidden away some- 


196 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


where in the mammoth building, which they bring out 
at luncheon and place at the tables for their own use. 
Maxine was too nervous and excited to eat, but not 
too much so to notice the kind of food obtainable, 
and the manner of its serving ; nor could she, stand- 
ing there in the crowd around the tables, fail to no- 
tice the politeness, the gentleness of the men and 
women, young and old, their consideration for each 
other. It was a new scene, a new sensation for the 
girl. We all three lunched in the Senate refectory 
up at the Capitol on several occasions, either as the 
guests of some Senator-friend of our hostess or with 
a party there for the novelty of a lunch among the 
country’s big men in their own particular preserves. 
We were the guests of honor at a luncheon given by a 
prince, at the Arlington, and how we enjoyed our 
grand entry into that stately dining-room at a mo- 
ment when filled with beautifully dressed women and 
charming men, our handsome Duchess and the Prince 
leading the way. The sensation to us was as if 

‘‘A straight, long entry to the temple led,” 

in the words of Dryden. We attended two delight- 
ful dinners in the banquet room of the Cabin John 
Bridge Hotel, one of them given by that prince of 
dinner givers, Harry Agnew, to attend one of whose 
splendidly-appointed, beautifully-managed affairs is 
to realize to what degree of refinement a well-born, 
well-educated, well-trained man of the world can at- 
tain. We enjoyed ever so many luncheons at the 
Raleigh with friends, and with relatives who live in 
that popular hotel, with its air of ease and comfort; 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 197 


a few dinners at the New Willard and several lunch- 
eons there, not to mention teas and brilliant little 
dinners in private homes. And we must not forget 
the grand supper given us by Dr. Lovelace in his 
bachelor home on New York avenue. Dr. Lovelace, 
the tall, handsome, refined, genial Doctor Lovelace, 
who can draw around him in his home-like rooms 
such congenial spirits. Refined, cultivated, traveled 
men of the world stepped into those hospitable par- 
lors at eleven o’clock and greeted the company pres- 
ent in the manner and with the air of princes of the 
blood, entered as if from a like party in an adjoin- 
ing room. And then the supper, and the attentions 
of several gentlemen given to the several ladies ! 
Never, I think, did a little party of fourteen bright 
women and clever men spend a more enjoyable even- 
ing, an evening of music, song, stories of travel, 
dancing, than was the case that never-to-be-forgot- 
ten January night with our aesthetic friend, Doctor 
Lovelace, whose home expresses his cultivation of the 
science of the beautiful, whose presence, whose ap- 
parance, is an expression of the philosophy of taste. 
This business woman’s luncheon, therefore, was a 
novelty, a new experience, and Maxine loves new 
experiences. Imagine the girl’s surprise to see many 
of her sisters satisfy themselves with a cup of tea, 
coffee, or chocolate, and a piece of pie or cake! Think 
of it, pie and tea for luncheon, and that at about her 
usual breakfast hour ! And then the hurry and rush 
of it all. “Surely,” she thought, “this great Gov- 
ernment of ours must be rich enough to allow its em- 
ployes an hour at noon. It would be better if they 


198 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


were obliged to work until five o’clock if the Govern- 
ment must have that half hour. Certainly it would 
look better, appear more dignified.” 

A few moments were spent studying the crowd of 
old soldiers, many of them being in such a maimed 
state that the girl could not understand how it were 
possible for men in such condition to be of service 
even to the Government they had helped to save, 
unless younger men were appointed under them to 
do the work. She noticed, too, and marvelled at the 
presence of delicate women, in some cases the women 
appearing too old and infirm to perform any service. 
Her comment at the end of it all was: 

“Well, after all has been said, ours certainly is 
a beneficent Government.” Then they departed for 
the big building wherein Mrs. Alton had spent so 
many of her days, the girl keeping up a running 
fire of questions. At the entrance of the up-stairs 
corridor they met Patrick Miller who accompanied 
Maxine to the car, and who that evening joined us 
for dinner. 

Most of the evening gatherings in this home were 
splendid affairs, if not brilliant, and many of the 
dinner parties given by Mrs. Cushman were of an 
unusual character with regard to the quality of the 
guests and the enjoyment of the table entertainment, 
for she is unsurpassed in the art of dinner giving 
and entertaining. But we had our merry little 
dinners, our merry little parties, too, the latter occa- 
sions of reading poetry and short stories, little talks 
about love and marriage, and on other lively subjects 
up in Mrs. Cushman’s study, where the walls were lined 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 199 


with books of her choice, the floor was covered with 
velvet rugs, where there were inviting divans and 
easy chairs; and dinners where nothing but fun and 
banter were thought of. 

The evening of Maxine’s visit to the working world 
was one of the latter kind, and the fun and story- 
telling turned on the young woman’s experiences dur- 
ing the day, experiences which she related very en- 
tertainingly. The subject came to be about “How 
this Government of ours is run,” in the words of 
Patrick, how positions are secured and, secured, how 
held on to by men and women who really do the work, 
after the President, who is one of the hardest worked, 
most constantly driven men in the country. 

One told of a soldier co-worker who had fallen 
asleep at his work, and was discovered by the ener- 
getic chief of his division, and a few days later dis- 
missed. By the middle of the week following 
his dismissal the young man was re-instated on 
his war record, as he is a Spanish-American 
veteran. 

One of the young women told that lately her “in- 
fluence” had resigned his high and powerful place 
in the Government, when she instantly became doubt- 
ful whether she could hold on to her place. She 
wrote to the man and asked that he be frank with 
her and tell her whether or not she would be retained. 
He answered her that he feared not, and that he 
could do nothing. Immediately she sent a note to 
another friend, a high official up at the Capitol, tell- 
ing him all and asking to be instructed how to set to 
work to hold her post. He sent back a special delivery 


SOO THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


letter giving her the names of the two most power- 
ful Senators on the most important Committee, and 
told her they were men without whose good-will her 
chief could not accomplish much, and gave her advice 
how to reach one or the other of them. She read the 
letter to a woman friend who is a tower of pohtical 
strength. When that helpful soul heard the names 
of the two big Senators, she clapped her hands and 
laughed, saying: 

“Oh, it is now all made easy. Senator Blank will 
be glad to grant me any request. But it will cost a 
couple of big hugs, my dear. But than I sha’n’t 
mind that at all, if it will secure your position 
to you.” The young woman was soon re-ap- 
pointed. 

This little story brought out one from our hostess, 
who, after all has been said, is one of the best story- 
tellers among women. She told of a strong political 
friend, living out West, who was anxious to be made 
minister to one of the European Capitals, and he 
knew that Senator Cushman could get him the post 
for the asking. But the Senator was not very well, 
and not only that, wasn’t enthusiastic over having the 
westerner made a minister. So he kept to his den 
that day and asked his wife if she would go over to 
the State Department and ask Mr. Secretary of State 
if he would appoint Mr. West Minister to Deutsch- 
land. The woman ordered her carriage and was 
driven over to the great Secretary’s office. She was 
told by the door-keeper that she must wait a few 
moments, that the Secretary was engaged. At the 
same moment the beloved son of the Secretary came 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 201 


into the room where he instantly saw his long-time 
friend in the person of the Senator’s wife, who was 
seeking an appointment. He quickly approached 
her, and after a few words of greeting asked if she 
wished to see his father. She told him that it was 
her wish to do so, when he took her arm, opened the 
door, and they were in the presence of the most lov- 
able man who ever served as Speaker, Senator or 
Cabinet Minister, and he was alone. The Secretary 
greeted her in his charming way and asked what he 
could do for her. She replied she had come for the 
Senator, come to ask that Mr. West be appointed 
Minister. The Secretary laughed in a quiet way and 
asked : 

“Do you want Mr. West appointed?” 

She answered: 

“I think he would make a good minister, Mr. Sec- 
retary.” 

“But do you like him, Mrs. Cushman, and do you 
want him appointed?” he insisted. 

“Yes, Mr. Secretary, I like him and very much 
want him appointed,” she answered. 

“Then it shall be as you wish, Mrs. Cushman, and 
please so state to the Senator.” They laughed over 
the turn of affairs, the handsome woman thanked the 
man for his courtesy, and for the appointment, then 
passed out. 

True enough Mr. West’s was one of the first ap- 
pointments made by the Harrison administration, 
and this beautiful home has among its wealth of 
valuable souvenirs two solid silver ladles of exquisite 
workmanship, and great value, gifts from the girl 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


queen to the Western Minister who bade him, on 
learning that he had no wife, give them to the love- 
liest woman he knew, with her best compliments. 

On another occasion we joined our friends, Mrs. 
Alton, and Patrick, down town for a luncheon in 
that peppery little Cuban food shop around on F 
street between the Pension and Patent office build- 
ings. We had more fun than food that day. 
Our order was big enough, but everything was 
hot with pepper as well as heat from the stove, 
and as our time was limited, being in the com- 
pany of Government clerks, the only people we 
have found in Washington who have any idea 
of the passing of time, Maxine rolled our dainty 
tamales in paper napkins and brought them home 
where we ate them and found them good. The nicest 
dishes served in the little Cuban eating place are: 
Chili con came (meat with pepper). Tamales 
(chicken with corn meal steamed in corn husks), Eu- 
chaladas (highly seasoned hash) ; all good, too. 

It was this beautiful day that, on gaining the street, 
we tried to coax Patrick and Mrs. Alton to come 
with us to the parks, the Zoo, anywhere to be out of 
doors and have a good time. The day was fine, the 
world filled with signs of spring, our hearts were 
light, and we so love the company of the interesting 
couple. But it were as nearly possible for us to reach 
and haul down yonder flag as to entice either from 
the post of duty. Once again we were made to 
realize the difference between the steady-work-a-day 
life of the interesting, serious woman with us, and 
our gay, happy, free lives. We bade the workers 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 203 


good-bye at the door of the great building wherein 
much important work of the Government is trans- 
acted, and slowly walked homeward. As we passed 
through beautiful streets lined with handsome homes, 
passed fine churches, many carefully kept little parks, 
we for the first time realized that soon we must leave 
it all, leave behind us a sweet home and the merry 
times we have in the home ; the beautiful city, charm- 
ing friends and companions, and go home to the 
West again. The thought of it all was chilling, the 
contemplation of what we must soon face almost 
sickened us. 

Arriving home we all sat down in the music room 
and talked over the events of these happy months. 
We realized that to but few young women have been 
given such privileges as we had had; but few receive 
the honors, courtesies and attentions showered upon 
us by Mrs. Cushman and her host of high-placed and 
worthy friends. We had been three times invited to 
the first home in the land, and on each occasion our 
happiness and pleasure had been complete. We had 
met and conversed with our President, a marvelous 
man, one who has energy enough for eight ordinary 
men. His education lacks in nothing. His training 
has been thoroughly American, and is such that it 
never could have been acquired in one life-time even 
by an American, had he less energy. President 
Roosevelt is first of all a good man, and a manly man, 
afterwards all that those two splendid terms imply, 
and is the best representative ever produced by our 
country wherein ‘‘energy is a religion, and where 
youth is loved.” We had met the first lady of the 


204i THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


land, received her kindly smile and warm handclasp, 
and had each time left her sweet presence wondering 
whether we were most charmed by the queenliness of 
the woman or the womanliness of the queen, to bor- 
row the apt expression of a chivalrous southerner. 
We had enjoyed converse with the charming daugh- 
ter of the President, almost his second self in ease of 
manner, heartiness, and magnetism, a beautiful, lov- 
able, sensible young woman, who appreciates to the 
fullest her proud place, and who, after her devotion 
to her parents, has but one ambition, to do the 
best she can any duty that comes to her hand in a 
manner becoming to the daughter of her father, any 
duty that will give pleasure and satisfaction to the 
public of which she, again like her father, is so 
fond. 

We had attended some reception or like affair at 
every Embassy in the Capital and in nearly every 
legation. We had met and conversed with every 
noted or well-known Senator, and with numberless 
Representatives, and had met their charming ladies, 
many of them in this dear home. We had been re- 
ceived in nearly every well-known home in Washing- 
ton, from that of the Chief Justice to some of the 
least known, but none the less charming oldest of 
Washington residents, homes in which the heart de- 
lights. We had attended musicales at the Shoreham 
and Willard, where, at different times, we had met 
all the artists in "'iA'ashington and enjoyed their 
music and song; had attended several brilliant 
charity functions where the leading ladies of the 
city had taken conspicuous parts, and had per- 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 205 


formed those parts worthily and well; had attended 
teas and receptions in great number until we felt 
that we knew nearly every prominent man, woman, 
and family in the city. 

During the time of conventions in February and 
March, we attended the meetings of the Daughters 
of the American Revolution in Chases’ Theatre, 
where every session was of interest. It was that oc- 
casion upon which we enjoyed the novel sight of the 
Minute Men, a patriotic organization, whose mem- 
bers appeared in Continental style of uniform, escort- 
ing the President-General to the platform for the 
evening’s session, and it was a most beautiful cere- 
mony. Mrs. Fairbanks covered herself with glory 
by her womanly bearing, her cleverness, her amiabil- 
ity during trying moments, her ready wit and her 
superb physical endurance. Her friends everywhere 
were charmed by her ability. 

The sessions of the National Woman’s Suffragists 
held in the First Presbyterian Church were replete 
with interest, the international character of the meet- 
ings added even more food for thought. To see the 
noted women who came from several countries to at- 
tend the first meeting of the kind in history, and to 
have pointed out to us and hear the leading women 
of our own country, women of brains and ability for 
affairs, was to us no little event. To attend the meet- 
ings and witness the courteous treatment and 
thoughtful attention given by leading men to these 
women who seemed to have stepped outside the home 
side of our national life, yet all of whom appeared 
to be none the less womanly women, was to raise one’s 


206 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


ideas of the chivalry and broadmindedness of the 
American man several degrees. 

But it remained for the National Council of Moth- 
ers to discover to us a new trait in the character of 
Mrs. Cushman. She accompanied Countess Anna 
Josephine to Carroll Institute where their meetings 
were held, and was unfortunate in her choice of hour 
and in the speaker who happened to be on the plat- 
form. It wasn’t a very hvely meeting, the speaker’s 
subject was dull, and she seemed short of wit to 
liven it up. Our ladies listened for a few moments, 
when the Duchess turned to her friend and said: 

“Do take me out of this, I can’t stand to hear 
mothers dictated to and found fault with in that 
fashion. Why will mothers hold councils and be 
addressed by old maids like that one.^ Let us go 
home,” and they left. At dinner that evening the 
Countess related our hostess’s shortcomings, and do- 
ing so drew one of the guests into telling us of an 
incident she knew of, one which occurred while she 
was in the newspaper office in Chicago. It happened 
that the Sporting Editor had to report a big morn- 
ing’s meeting of some organization, and to go from 
there to a mother’s meeting, or council, that could 
not be covered by any other of the force. The young 
fellow presented himself and was cared for as the 
reporters usually are by women’s meetings. He soon 
discovered that there were only three married women 
in the assembly. He first thought the wrong name 
had been used in announcing the meeting, but a mo- 
ment’s listening convinced him on that point, when 
he put away his pencil, jabbed his roll of copy in 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 207 


his pocket and left, unable to write even on women’s 
fondness for club work. 

After discussing the conventions and other inter- 
esting affairs we had attended, while resting there in 
the music room, recalling the many box parties we 
had enjoyed at the theatres, the rides to places of 
interest, our visits to the big Government buildings, 
evenings in the Library, with the little suppers after- 
ward, and a thousand other things and affairs seen 
and almost forgotten about, we talked about how we 
should write it all out, write it in a little story. Not 
to describe everything. That would be impossible, 
and uninteresting, but to tell some of the happenings 
in the lives of us three westerners while spending a 
winter in Washington. 

Every one knows Washington to be a beautiful 
city, as every one knows why it is beautiful, but that 
it should be made far more beautiful, and made beau- 
tiful on a broad and liberal plan, all the world agrees. 
The big buildings are just big buildings with miles 
and miles of halls and corridors. No one can describe 
them with their maze of various departments. To do 
so would interest no one. 

To enjoy the Smithsonian Institution and Nation- 
al Museum, one must see them and view and study 
their collections. One cannot enjoy their worth from 
a description of them. 

Nearly everybody who reads knows the Capitol 
thoroughly. After that grand pile and its incom- 
parable terrace, there are only the Treasury build- 
ing, the Congressional Library, and the State, War 
and Navy buildings, worthy of description. 


208 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


The Library is about the finest building in this 
country, and after the Capitol certainly the one the 
people are proudest of. It is complete in every sense, 
a restful, glorious building, but one of too many 
fascinating details for a description to be given in 
any sketch. 

The squares and parks, the monuments and streets 
are all fine, or fine enough, and there are plenty of 
them, but many of the monuments are badly placed, 
excepting the Washington monument, that to La- 
fayette, and a few of these which are the centers of 
circles. In the last named instances, the exceptions 
are General Logan in Iowa Circle — General Logan 
belonged to Illinois; Dr. Hahnemann and Daniel 
Webster facing on Scott Circle. But these criticisms 
are not on the Monuments, they apply to their loca- 
tion, as do they to the Peace Monument standing at 
the foot of the Capitol, instead of in a park by itself 
or at Arlington or in the National Cemetery, and to 
the finest of them all, that of the beloved Lincoln, 
a sightly column topped with a splendid figure 
of the martyr, standing on a little three by five 
mound in front of the ugly, old federal building on 
E street. 

There are many fine churches in the city, as there 
are some nice resorts and fine drives near by. There 
are several cemeteries of note, some of which are 
worthy of repeated visits. First among these, of 
course, is Arlington, incomparable in location and 
history. Arlington and Mt. Vernon are really the 
two supreme memorials of our nation. On this sub- 
ject it may be well to quote these few lines from the 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 209 


President’s speech made a few days ago at tfie open 
grave of a great soldier: 

“It is no chance that has made Mount Vernon and 
Arlington here in the neighborhood of Washington 
the two greatest memorials of a nation’s past, be- 
cause one commemorates the founding and the other 
the saving of the nation. If it were not for what 
Arlington symbolizes Mount Vernon would be little 
or nothing; if it were not for what was done by Rose- 
crans and his fellows, if it were not for what they 
did, then the work of Washington would have 
crumbled into blooded chaos and the deeds of the 
founders of this republic would be remembered only 
because they had been another of the many failures 
of the spirit of liberty in this country.” 

In the National Cemetery by the Soldier’s Home 
is the splendid tomb of Logan, and near him rest 
thousands of the brave boys in blue. Just across the 
road is beautiful Rock Creek Cemetery, rich in asso- 
ciations, rich in monuments, and noted for posses- 
sing one of the finest, if not the finest piece of bronze 
cemetery art in this country, in Mrs. Adam’s monu- 
ment, a work of art erected by a husband who claims 
to have loved the beautiful woman he could not make 
happy, loved her who was so unhappy that she took 
her own life. 

The Congressional Cemetery and Oak Hill are 
both interesting places, too. It is in the last-named 
where rests the great Blaine and the homeless John 
Howard Paine. 

We talked about all these things and how we would 
write about them to make our little story, how we 


SIO THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


would enjoy writing the tale as we enjoy the men 
and women, things and events which shall make it 
a tale for others. But time flies even to happy folk. 
With the ring of the last post there came an invita- 
tion for luncheon on the morrow with Harry Agnew 
and his party at the Raleigh, and another for dinner 
at Cabin John Bridge Hotel, and a visit to Great 
Falls on Sunday, for which outing our dear friends, 
Joseph Church, Harry Agnew (the same Harry 
Agnew of dinner-giving fame), and Edwin Dante, 
not only furnished their handsome horses and traps for 
our pleasure, but themselves as hosts, escorts, guides. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


F or a long time we girls had been deeply in- 
terested in the relations of Patrick Miller and 
Mrs. Alton. The fact of their being some 
years’ difference between their ages forbade the 
thought of them as lovers, although the young man’s 
devotion to her, his consideration for her likes and 
dislikes, his splendid courtesy, his thoughtfulness, his 
unobtrusive attentions, were so constant and delicate, 
that on such grounds one would be justified in class- 
ing him among the most ardent of lovers. 

But at first we did not think much about this, and 
it was during those first weeks that Maxine laid claim 
to the young man as if it were her natural right. He 
is of fine appearance, and of such qualities as make 
a fastidious girl like our dear Maxine desire the at- 
tentions of a man possessing them. Then, too, he is 
lighthearted and gay, and such a ready comrade, 
that she allowed herself to feel that he would be rather 
willing prey, and Maxine loves to have her way, and 
her flirtations. She had treated many young men, 
and others not so young, very much as a kitten does 
a ball, then cast them off with about as much thought 
as if discarding a torn glove. When spoken to about 
her dash and daring in the game of hearts which she 
plays, it must be confessed with considerable skill, she 
invariably answered: 

‘‘Oh, I hate men.” But not many girls hate men, 
especially Western girls. 

One evening the sweet girl gave us one of the pret- 

2IZ 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


tiest scenes imaginable. Patrick brought for Mrs. 
Alton a late magazine, the front page of which bore 
a portrait of a beautiful, dark, young woman. ( Max- 
ine is a blonde.) The picture had caught his fancy, 
and he wanted to show it to all of us. His taste had 
doubtless been influenced by his affection for the 
beautiful Spanish maiden whom he met in Havana. 
He often confessed that the senorita stirred his affec- 
tions. 

On Maxine entering the den, Mrs. Alton showed 
her the picture and explained to her that it was Pat- 
rick’s idea of a perfectly beautiful woman. Of 
course she was displeased with his taste. But then 
Maxine never agrees with any one about anything. 
She is always in rebellion. She was born contrary, 
and strange to say she most admires that particular 
trait in her character, and gives it greatest cultiva- 
tion. While, in this instance, she was making up 
her mind to pout, Patrick took the magazine from 
Mrs. Alton, and covering the portrait with his shape- 
ly, large, white hand, said : 

“Let me show you how to read this picture,” pro- 
ceeded to interpret what the exposed portions re- 
vealed to him. In the upward glance of the eyes, 
seen between two fingers placed across the picture, 
he read persuasion, coaxing; in the eyes and brow, 
coquetry; the nose, upper face, and poise of the 
head, pride, good blood; the brow, refinement and 
docility; the lips, affection and sweetness; the chin 
and lower face, strength of character; the shapely 
head, dignity; the beautifully rounded throat, shoul- 
der and almost voluptuous breast, seductiveness. 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART ^13 


His action was so quick and sure, the language so 
chaste, the idea of describing the picture so original, 
and all so unexpected in gay, unthinking Patrick, 
that the girl betrayed her surprise in her almost 
startled upward look into the young man’s face. As 
their eyes met she discovered something in the light 
of his, something too in his manner, that had not be- 
fore caught her attention, and she was piqued. In 
that moment, standing there face to face as they 
were, the girl realized that the young fellow was not 
a boy but a man, one in everything a match for her 
cleverness, and quite able to understand her tactics. 
She wondered how it was that she should have taken 
him for a boy. She realized, too, that if she con- 
quered him (and never before had that ambition been 
so strong with her as in this particular moment), she 
must take a reef in her sails. But she said nothing, 
only turned to the desk, took up a pencil and with 
it scratched the pretty picture almost out. This 
done she flounced from the room in high dudgeon. 

There never was a girl like our Maxine for making 
pretty and interesting scenes. 

Several times before this episode, Maxine had tried 
in various ways to get from Patrick something about 
his state of feelings for Mrs. Alton, why it was that 
she so interested him. Surely he could not be in love 
with the woman. But never a word could she draw 
from his lips. After this she one afternoon pointedly 
asked him, only to be silenced in such a manner by 
the imperious young fellow that she has never since 
broached the subject in his presence. 

It was one dull November morning on which Pat- 


^14 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


rick Miller was by promotion transferred from one 
big department in the Government service to another, 
and on that morning he reported for duty to the head 
of the big division to which he was assigned. Then 
and there it was that he came face to face with Mrs. 
Alton. They met with a quick speaking glance of 
recognition, that look given when friends well known 
have passed out of our lives for a long time and are 
unexpectedly met again. But neither of them spoke. 

The woman was strangely attracted by his warm- 
hearted manner. He appeared to her to possess that 
courage and enthusiasm that insures the accomplish- 
ment of all things, qualities usually termed magnetic. 
His blue eyes were shining like diamonds from the 
excitement and stir of change, of meeting strangers, 
and new surroundings. He was a well-groomed, 
neatly-dressed young fellow. He wore no jewelry 
excepting a crown scarf-pin, the crown’s seven points 
being set each with a perfect pearl, an exquisite jewel. 
For that symbol of royalty to be worn by other than 
the princely or high placed, is to look overdressed — 
but Patrick Miller never appeared overdressed. This 
badge of nobility and its perfect quality riveted the 
woman’s attention for a brief moment. In that mo- 
ment she not only admired the jewel, but read in the 
handsome, animated countenance and the warm- 
hearted manner of its wearer his quality to make 
friends, the temperament which wins popularity, and 
she longed to know the man, as she longed in a less 
measure to know one or two others of her co-workers, 
in whom she recognized qualities of manliness. 

Mrs. Alton was the only woman doing the work to 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 215 


which Patrick was assigned, and would from that 
fact* have attracted the man’s attention. The desk he 
was directed to as his was just in front of the one 
occupied by her. Try as he did to place the pleasing 
personality of the woman, that is when or where he 
had known or seen her, he could not do it. At the 
same time he felt sure she was trying to do the same 
thing with regard to himself. 

The man was more attracted by the woman’s high- 
bred^ easy manner and politeness, her evident ability, 
her correct deportment and womanly dignity, her 
careful and becoming apparel, than by any person he 
had ever met. 

At the end of a fortnight, during which time he 
had closely studied the woman and her ways, and had 
decided that she was deserving of far better than her 
lot, and had admired her manner of receiving the 
courtesies or any little attention from the twenty-five 
or thirty men among whom she worked, the young 
man decided that he would speak to her, as he felt 
himself to be no more a stranger than any of the 
others of her co-workers, and that no time would be 
better than the present. At the close of work on a 
Saturday afternoon, he turned to her and said: 

“I know your name to be Mrs. Alton, and that you 
have lately returned from Chicago. As I am just 
about to leave for my vacation, and am a native of 
dear old Illinois, I hope I may be pardoned for seek- 
ing speech without an introduction. Besides, your 
face is familiar. We must have met somewhere before 
now. My name is Patrick Miller, and I am from the 
good old town of Lanfield.” 


^16 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


Mrs. Alton was indeed happy at the turn affairs 
had taken. She had been seriously attracted to the 
industrious young man, and had longed to speak to 
him, but could not bring herself to make the advance. 
She offered him her hand, which he took in a hearty 
clasp. They talked for a few minutes, but could not 
discover when or where they had met, or if they ever 
had, but they were glad to know each other, glad 
that they had finally come together. 

Patrick told her that he expected to visit the big 
city by the Lake during his vacation, whereupon she 
bade him call at the Conservatory and see her sister, 
Marian, at the same time giving him a line of intro- 
duction to the pretty girl, written while they talked, 
on one of her cards. He promised to give himself 
this pleasure, saying: 

“If your sister interests and attracts me as you 
have, Mrs. Alton, my vacation may have a romantic 
ending.” The woman bade him be careful of his 
affections, and warned him that she was not pre- 
pared to give away the little girl for a long time to 
come Then they said good-bye and Patrick went 
away But not for a day was either forgotten by the 
other, and they marvelled within themselves that it 
should be so. 

On the morning of his return to duty, Patrick at 
once made his way to Mrs. Alton’s desk, where most 
cordial greetings were exchanged. He told her about 
his happy outing of two weeks, about his parents, 
after whose welfare she asked, and his young friends, 
ending by showing her a photograph of his hand- 
some, young-looking mother, when he added; 


the; SENATOR'S SWEETHEART 217 


“I told mother all I knew about you, Mrs. Alton, 
and described you to her, and we talked about the 
bkelihood of our having met elsewhere than here. 
We concluded that unless it were in the South or in 
Cuba or Porto Rico during the war, that it is not 
likely that we have ever met before, unless it were in 
another life time.” 

Mrs. Alton told him that she was not away from 
Chicago during the war, excepting a trip of two 
weeks to Denver. As he did not return home through 
Chicago, they gave it up, and the man asked for the 
privilege of calling at her home. This was gladly 
given and accompanied by the request that he call 
soon. 

Patrick was warmly welcomed by the sweet woman 
who had so roused his interest, so won his admiration. 
Her rooms were not only beautiful but full of in- 
terest. There were books, pictures, souvenirs of trav- 
el, not to speak of the hospitable atmosphere created 
by the woman who called the place home. She was a 
woman who had hardly known childhood; one who 
had been self-supporting since fifteen years old; as 
to education was almost entirely self-taught; yet she 
had traveled over much of her own country and in 
many foreign ones; she had lodged in a dugout, had 
taught a term of school in a sod-house, had lived in 
a palace, visited in castles. Is it any wonder she was 
interesting to Patrick, or to the many young men and 
women of her acquaintance whom she drew around 
her as by magic? 

The life of the young son of Illinois, as she thought 
of Patrick, had not been different, except perhaps in 


S18 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


degrees of strenuousness with which he had per- 
petrated his boyish pranks, from the lives of countless 
other boys in the average home of his country, until 
the declaration of war with Spain. Then the old 
fighting fire in his blood flamed as it had in his fight- 
ing father and maternal uncles in 1861. He went out 
into the world where his mind began to awaken and 
to respond to the pleasurable excitements of life, 
learning, seeing, doing. Here he was in contact with 
one who could lead that ready mind into myriad ways, 
arouse that alert interest to achievement, stir the 
man to the depths by giving him pictures of men, 
things, and events, and that one was a woman. It 
would have been unnatural had not the man with his 
temperament been attracted by such a woman, and 
fearlessly, unsuspectingly attracted. This he showed 
by his frequent calls at the home on the Hill, where 
he became quite a favorite with Mrs. Alton’s wide 
circle of acquaintances, among young people. 

One Saturday evening Mrs. Alton gave a large 
dinner party in honor of her natal day. In response 
to her invitations there gathered around the rose- 
laden table, in the big and beautifully decorated 
dining-room, a merry crowd of young people, and, of 
course, Patrick was among the gayest of the gay. 

It is doubtful if the young woman ever more truly 
enjoyed any like event in her busy life. She was 
really happy and expressed it in her brilliant eyes 
and almost speaking countenance and manner. How 
could it be otherwise, surrounded as she was by a 
score of loving friends, and reminded of the love and 
remembrance of several scores of others by letters, 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 219 


telegrams, gifts, and flowers? The atmosphere of 
the rooms was redolent with the perfume of flowers 
sent as tributes, and there was beauty on every side. 
Every feature of the evening was brilliant and pleas- 
ure-giving. After a little while spent in the drawing 
rooms where many friends, who had called to ex- 
press good wishes and high hopes for the sweet wom- 
an’s future, were received, it was proposed by some 
one that all go up to her den, that retreat then almost 
a bower of roses, as it was a temple of interest, up 
under the roof, the place wherein she had entertained 
many well-known men and women, not to mention 
friends among her co-workers, and from club-world. 
Yet the woman had been here then but a twelvemonth, 
and had come an entire stranger. 

The company filed upstairs, where their handsomely 
dressed hostess charmed all by her manner of enter- 
taining, and her skill in interesting her guests in each 
other, as she had drawn out the most brilliant quality 
of mind in each one of them while at the table. The 
evening was one of unmixed pleasure to all, but to 
none did the event afford more pleasure and interest 
than to Patrick. Mrs. Alton was everywhere among 
her guests, and he was as constantly by her side. Like 
a gallant knight he served her in many ways, was 
ready to do her bidding, and yet it was all so unob- 
trusively done that but few noticed the young man’s 
interest in, admiration for, the woman who seemed to 
charm him, to make him strong, manlike. 

Once, in a quiet moment, and a little removed from 
the others, he slipped his arm around her slender 
waist and gently drawing her to him, whispered: 


220 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


“You are perfectly beautiful to-night, Mrs. Alton. 
It makes me happy to look at you. Do you know, 
sweet friend, that you are to me a wonderful woman, 
and really the most charming one I have ever met.'* 
What is it, Mrs. Alton, that makes you different from 
everyone I have ever known?” 

Before she could answer or recover from her sur- 
prise occasioned by the man’s speech, and with his 
arm still about her, he added, gently drawing her 
with him: 

“Please come and sit by me and rest, and let us 
have a few words together. You must be tired.” 

He led her to a comfortable seat, but before he 
could take his place by her side he saw the servant 
enter with the coffee, and he proceeded to place be- 
fore her the table for the tray. Then he, with others, 
helped her to serve the coffee. 

While the party was breaking up the young man 
again got a few moments with his hostess, this time 
telling her what a lovely evening she had given them 
all, calling her attention to the fact that seven States, 
besides sunny France, had been represented around 
her dinner table. He lingered only a few moments 
after the others to thank her for his evening, to know 
when he might come again and to say good night 
quietly. Then he added : 

“And I want to tell you again what a sweet, beauti- 
ful woman you are, Mrs. Alton.” With this she 
tapped his broad shoulder with her fan, and said : 

“But is it not only some of your sweet flattery, Pat- 
rick? I am just a quiet, plain woman. I can’t under- 
stand your praise and sweet speech as being any- 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 221 


thing else than flattery.” But he was equal to her 
charge and said in all earnestness, with one hand on 
her shoulder: 

“No, Mrs. Alton, I am not flattering. I do not 
flatter you. I have had the most enjoyable evening 
of my life, and I want you to know it. I also want 
to say how glad I am to know you, Mrs. Alton, I 
really appreciate the privilege. But I do not flatter 
you, believe me, I do not.” 

The young man’s manner and earnestness pleased 
the woman as but few things had ever pleased or 
affected her. In the face of the pleasure given her 
by the pretty speech and great seriousness of the 
speaker, she explained to him how she was always pre- 
pared for such outbursts of compliment from mem- 
bers of his warm-hearted race. But he held his own 
with her, telling her that his father was of pure Ger- 
man blood and that she must give that half of him at 
least credit for seriousness, then he passed out into 
the night. 

So the sweet friendship between Mrs. Alton and 
Patrick Miller had its beginning. Their fondness for 
each other, their comradeship had created each for the 
other a state of undivided interest. They were not 
lovers; did not know themselves to be related; there 
were several years’ difference in their ages; yet the 
woman was placed upon a pedestal by herself, as it 
were, by the young man, while he was the object of 
the sweetest, fondest love the woman had ever lav- 
ished from the wealth of her heart’s affection upon 
any object she had in her lonely life known. 

This was the^state of the relations of Patrick and 


222 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


Mrs. Alton when Mrs. Cushman returned to her 
Washington home in the Autumn and sent for Mrs. 
Alton to join her, to take up her abode with her. Mrs. 
Cushman said at this time : 

“You must keep all your friends, Norma, keep them 
all and have them come to us here, they will always be 
welcome. Your friends shall be my friends. We will 
share this sweet home together. It is as much your 
home as mine. I know we shall be happy together 
as we have ever been since the beginning of our 
acquaintance.” The scores of friends of Patrick and 
Mrs. Alton had for some time looked on with interest, 
but none could understand their friendship unless it 
were Mrs. Cushman, and she had not yet met the 
young man. 

Mrs. Cushman held that every woman must have 
her romance, that she may have it or has had it. She 
claimed that a young woman may love, or think she 
does, which sometimes amounts to the same, and 
marry the first man who comes to her, or who asks 
her, and thus settle down in life. Yet there is never 
a time in the lives of millions of such women, women 
whose unruffled lives have had no history, no matter 
how well-regulated their lives, to any one of whom 
may not come, and to many it has come, her romance ; 
even though the woman be happily and advantage- 
ously married, surrounded by lovely children, in a 
home of plenty, and shielded by one of the best hus- 
bands in the world. 

But this belief had no application in the case of 
Mrs. Alton. She was a lovable, magnetic woman. 
She had been free for years. If she chose to try to 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 223 


win Patrick Miller, there was no good reason why she 
should not do so. If the young man loved her, he 
was entirely within his province. He, too, was free, 
and he knew and often spoke of the happy marriages 
of which history makes mention, marriages where 
the wife has been the older, and of so many cases of 
the hke where the woman’s superior knowledge of the 
world, her ambition, have helped forward and upward 
men who could not have been so aided by younger 
women, women who naturally would have claimed 
more for themselves, thus making the husband’s ef- 
forts more arduous, his attainment to place and pow- 
er more difficult. 

Soon after Mrs. Alton joined her loving friend, 
Mrs. Cushman, in this home so dear to us all, Patrick 
came one evening to take her to the opera. He was 
shown up to Mrs. Cushman’s study, where he was met 
by the object of his visit and by whom he was pre- 
sented to Mrs. Cushman, who looked with amazement 
into his handsome face and upon his commanding 
figure. On their departure she told them she would 
have prepared a nice supper on their return, and for 
them to join her there, adding to Patrick: 

“It will give us a chance to become acquainted, Mr. 
Miller. I so want to know you better.” Afterwards, 
when at a late hour the young man left them, Mrs. 
Cushman said: 

“Why, Norma, I can perfectly understand your love 
for the man about whom I have heard so much. It is 
nothing that you are his senior. You with your am- 
bitions, your knowledge of the world, your educa- 
tion, and your own quality for winning friends, could 


224 } THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


help make of the brilliant fellow almost anything to 
which his ambition might aspire. But you are alike, 
dear, very much alike in dignity and manner. I can’t 
understand that.” 

The last statement, made in such earnestness, star- 
tled Mrs. Alton, set her to thinking deeply again on 
the almost ever present subject of her origin, her 
parentage. Sitting there in the white and gold room 
of the warm-hearted, truly womanly hostess, with 
lights softly shaded, the house entirely quiet, the two 
women talked until an early morning hour, talked of 
the life of Mrs. Alton, of its sunshine, shadow, trag- 
edy; talked of some of their love affairs, just as 
women have done since sleep, and loose robes, and 
soft slippers were invented. It was then she told of 
her life’s loneliness and longing; then, too, she told 
Mrs. Cushman unreservedly her love for Patrick, 
adding : 

“It is a peculiar, quiet, sweet love, Mrs. Cushman. 
It satisfies me beyond the power of anything else in 
this world, and still I am disturbed. If he were to 
tire of me, or leave me, I believe it would almost kill 
me, I, who have suffered so much. Then, again, 
often when he is with me I want to send him away, I 
want to say to him how selfish I feel myself in drawing 
him to me so much, — I with my sorrowful past and he 
with his gayety, his promising future. I know, or 
feel that I do, how much more enjoyment he would 
get out of the company of young ladies nearer his 
own age. Once I spoke of it in an easy, indifferent 
way, feeling in the act of doing so, what I would 
suffer were he to do this. He answered: 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART ^5 


“ ‘Mrs. Alton, can I never make you understand 
that I can’t endure girls They don’t know any- 
thing. Seven evenings a week spent with them is as 
one. It is always the same things over and over. With 
you I learn something almost every hour. Ho jrou 
know how you have aroused my ambition, stirred my 
mind.? I come to you of my own accord. You never 
ask me to come, yet see how you always welcome me, 
and 1 love to be welcomed, to go where I know I am 
wanted.’ 

<^Then he told me of how proud he used to feel 
when as a boy he would see his father elected aider- 
man, or supervisor, or to some office, and how puffed 
up he was when his father became a member of the 
state legislature, ending by saying: 

“ ‘But since I have known you, Mrs. Alton, I 
could not be hired to take such a place as alderman, 
supervisor, county attorney, or mayor in that town. 
The thought of it all now reminds me of a story I 
once heard of two old farmers. In the unkempt hair 
of one of the old moss-backs, birds had built a nest 
and hatched their young, but the old man was igno- 
rant of it all until one day at the saw mill, while sit- 
ting bare-headed on a log waiting his turn to unload, 
one of his neighbors saw the nest and told him. The 
nest was there and would have so remained but for his 
neighbor’s alertness, as would my little ideas be the 
same as they were when I lived in Lanfield, but for 
the waking up you have given me.’ 

“Did you ever know such a fellow, or hear of one 
like him.?” Then she added in a half dreamy manner 
of speech, almost as if talking to herself; 


^26 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


“I am always happy when he is with me, happy! 
happy!” Then rousing herself, she added: 

“Only think of it, dear! We talk about every- 
thing. He tells me of his comfort when with me, of 
his loneliness when for a day or two he has not seen 
me. We speak freely of our affection for each other. 
We walk together and ride together; make calls; go 
on excursions, and always we are content, and he seems 
interested every moment. He tells me I am unlike any 
other w^oman ; tells how I interest him ; speaks of what 
others say to him about our devotion to each other; 
tells me that when he is out on excursions with others, 
or when walking alone, that he thinks of the little 
tilings that give me pleasure, of what we have talked 
and noticed when together on our little outings. He 
tells me of his past ; his sports and flirtations ; his ex- 
periences in the war ; and of his hopes and ambitions. 
He consults me often, all the while growing nearer 
and dearer to me. Once he said : 

“ ‘I shall never love any woman, Mrs. Alton,’ and 
instantly added, ‘Am I not a brute to say that to 
you?’ showing plainly that he knows of the depth of 
my love for him. But with it all, dear, it is not the 
love I bear Wallace Somers. Patrick is to me the 
dearest object in the world. He comes in all eager- 
ness and so happy. He puts his arms about me and 
kisses my lips and cheeks, then we visit, or read, and 
so the evening is spent. He never stirs me. His 
presence is like a benediction. When he goes away 
his arms are again about me, his kiss upon my lips, — 
sometimes I confess such kisses as an impassioned 
lover gives, then again the sweet friend’s kiss given 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 227 


the woman he most admires, most respects, like the 
kiss given one’s mother. Do you think he ever thinks 
me foolish to lavish so much of my affection and 
thought upon him? Do you think me foolish to in- 
dulge the affection, my sweet friend? How will it all 
end, my dear? What can it all mean?” 

Then they separated, Mrs. Alton going to her own 
room, having told her friend almost everything ex- 
cept about her doubt as to her parentage. 

Alone in her own chamber, Mrs. Cushman thought 
for a long time on the subject of the interesting 
woman she had chosen for friend, companion, sister, 
confidante. And she recalled that evening spent at 
the Normandie, and’ on the car going out to Cabin 
John Bridge. She remembered the personality of the 
man Mrs. Alton had just spoken of as Wallace 
Somers, and that she thought at the time she had met 
him before, and she recalled too her thought at the 
time of what a fascinating man he was. She declared 
to herself ; 

“I must bring them together. I must help this 
over-burdened woman.” 

A few days later Mrs. Cushman fell ill, the effect of 
her long season of worry and the terrible realization 
of all she had lost. For some weeks she was confined 
to her bed. Never sick woman had greater devotion 
from another than Mrs. Alton gave her friend. They 
had thought themselves well acquainted before, for 
they had spent much time together, once they spent 
weeks together in the sweet old home on the hill in St. 
Anthony. But it remained for this period of illness 
to bring the friends heart to heart, to give to each a 


^^8 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


place in the other’s heart and affections not before 
found. 

During her illness, Mrs. Cushman learned from 
Mrs. Alton that Wallace Somers had come into her 
life during her girlhood out there on the plains. She 
learned also that it was largely owing to his influence, 
the influence of the cultivated, refined, well-bred man 
of the world that he was, the man with the ease of 
manner that comes by association with cultivated peo- 
ple, that swayed the girl firmly into the way of se- 
curing education, that decided her to choose the 
better way, and that she had told all this to Mr. Alton 
on his return to her. 

Wallace Somers, after finishing his studies, went 
West, as so many young men do. For a while he 
tarried in Midvale of which town his father had been 
one of the founders, and for whom the county had 
been named, a few years before, but prospects were 
not alluring to him, and he went to Mexico. During 
his stay in Midvale he had met Norma Roslyn and be- 
come deeply interested in her, more interested perhaps 
than he had ever been in any other woman. The girl 
was a study to him; her situation was dangerous, he 
knew. Her own womanhood or helplessness, or may- 
be it was a kind of child-like dignity, seemed to him 
her only shield, her only protection. He saw her 
there in the hotel surrounded by all sorts and condi- 
tions of persons, and he trembled for her. He had 
not thought of love for the girl and he never for the 
moment thought of her loving him. Even so, she 
appeared to him the sweetest, calmest, truest object he 
knew of in the valley. 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 229 


One Saturday afternoon Wallace sauntered down 
to the hotel about five o’clock. Some one was playing 
the piano, and playing well. As the strains of the 
Blue Danube floated out in the quiet of the late after- 
noon, he seemed involuntarily drawn to the dining 
room door. At the same moment Norma entered the 
long room from the opposite end. Both seemed stirred 
by the sweet strains of the beautiful waltz. He had 
never seen the girl’s eyes so deeply blue, nor had he 
ever before been so impressed by her pretty flgure and 
grace. On her face there was a half smile, an unmis- 
table look of pleasure at his presence, or was it the 
music They seemed to approach each other as if by 
arrangement but not a word had been said. When 
they met half-way across the room, he passed his 
walking-stick across her back at the waist, and they 
waltzed around and around the great room, carried 
by the perfect music and the pleasure of the sweet 
exercise. Soon he slipped his cane to one hand, and 
with one arm around the pretty figure they finished 
the happy dance. The girl in that moment learned 
what life meant, in fact she began to live, and some- 
thing of the beauty of soul possessed by Wallace 
Somers entered into the young woman’s being. As 
she lightly danced away the few moments with his 
arm about her, his pretty nothings about her grace 
and lightness in her ear, his breath upon her cheek, 
she realized happiness but it was not hers to say it. 

The next morning the young man asked the girl to 
go with him for a walk. Along in the middle of the 
afternoon she got away, and they went in a leisurely 
manner to a high bank of the creek where they seated 


^30 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


themselves under the great cottonwood tree that was a 
land mark to all the country about. Seated there over- 
looking the town and the valley for miles and miles, 
they talked of her life there in the hotel. Wallace 
Somers realized, almost in protest with himself, the 
girl’s innocence of her danger from contact with the 
bad about her. He told her he hoped she would while 
there always remain the little lady he had always 
found her to be, that she would as far as possible avoid 
associating with the people by whom she was sur- 
rounded. Told her to try to choose the good and 
helpful ones, for there was of that kind there, even 
then. He told how it pained him to see her and 
her sisters amidst such surroundings, but that he sup- 
posed their innocence would preserve them. He asked 
her what, if any pleasures, she had. He knew all her 
pleasures without asking, and she told them just as 
he knew them. They were few indeed, and simple, 
too. A few times afterwards they came together for 
a brief moment or two, during which short interviews 
the fine fellow had some encouraging word or broth- 
erly bit of advice for the girl woman. Then he left 
the valley forever. Once he wrote her a letter from 
Alamosa. At its close he told her he must get it off 
by the post then about to start, as it would be the 
last chance to get a word to the outside world for 
several months, as the snows would come soon when 
they would be walled away from all the rest of the 
world. He told her he would like to hear from her. 
The girl received the beautiful letter, every word of 
which gave her pleasure and which was indelibly im- 
printed in her heart. Rut as she knew there would 


THE SENATOR'S SWEETHEART ^31 


be no more crossing the pass for months on account 
of the snows, she put off answering it and thus it was 
that she never answered the letter. 

She recalled her feelings when Captain Marshall 
had talked with her, told her of his love and hopes; 
recalled her state the morning on which Mr. Alton 
drove away, and compared those hours of test with 
her state on saying good-bye to Wallace Somers. 
She did not know it to be love for the calm, splendid 
fellow, that feeling that welled over her soul at his 
going. She only knew that he was the finest charac- 
ter she had ever met. She treasured the memory of 
every moment spent in his presence, cherished every 
word she had heard from his lips, and often, oh how 
often, she wished she might become like him 1 But no 
one knew. She could not mention the subject to any 
one. Then she locked it all within her own heart and 
memory, loving the dear fellow, remembering always 
her desire to be like him, and during all her battles 
with self and adverse circumstances, Norma Roslyn 
cherished her ideal, and she cherishes that ideal to this 
day. 

Down there in Mexico the young man prospered. 
In the course of time he met and married a young 
woman from his own state. He did not love her as he 
should have loved the woman he chose for his wife. 
She was clever, nice looking, and adored him. He 
seemed to think that enough. He had not forgotten 
the girl at Midvale, but he had never loved her, and so 
he married. After a few years Wallace Somers and 
his wife came to V^ashington. Here he has a nice 
position almost at the head of one of the great de- 


2S2 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


partments, and is much thought of by a wide circle 
of appreciative friends. The world would say he 
has buried himself here. But we know better. But 
for the small army of good and capable men who are 
doing so well their part here at the desks of the na- 
tion, men who are content to give their splendid abil- 
ity to the work they have chosen, and to do that work 
without any flourish of trumpet or loud talking, a 
whole nation would not have occasion to be content 
with, to be able to brag about their Government at 
Washington. But for the intelligent, continuous 
work of such men as Wallace Somers, what would be- 
come of the affairs of the people, where as with us, 
politics so constantly change the leaders and heads of 
parties? It is as with the army. There must be 
some privates ; there cannot be an army of officers ; so 
it is with the bureau or departmental work of our 
Government. Wallace Somers was a high-placed, 
high-minded, able private in the ranks of his Gov- 
ernment service. He served with pride and in- 
telligence along with many others of equal ability, 
the careful manner of doing whose work, the prompt- 
ness and courtesy wdth which it is done, often being of 
infinitely greater importance than the part performed 
by some in higher places which they fill only for a 
time at the pleasure of a party’s call or a leader’s 
appointment. 

Once only before coming to Washington had Mrs. 
Alton seen the man whose memory she so treasured. 
While she was sitting in a Pullman car in the big 
station at Council Bluffs some years ago, the man 
passed down the platform and stopped before her win- 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 2S3 


dow to speak with some one. Instantly the woman 
recognized the calm, clear, blue-grey eyes, the proud 
head, the handsome face of the ideal man of her girl- 
hood, the man of her memory; her heart’s hero; but 
before she could raise her window or get to the steps 
of her car to reach him for speech, the train started 
and she was helpless. Again he had passed from her 
ken. The next time she saw him was in the Cushman 
drawing room in attendance upon the big charity 
affair described in the opening paragraph of this lit- 
tle tale. Even though years had passed, Norma Alton 
knew the man, but she did not speak to him or say 
anything to another about him. He did not recog- 
nize her, although he was attracted by her presence 
and her beautiful attire, and man-like spoke of the 
handsome dress of the woman, adding that her ap- 
pearance seemed familiar, that was all. Their next 
meeting was at the little Bohemian gathering at the 
Normandie, where she accompanied Mrs. Cushman, 
and has been described, as has been given a brief rec- 
ord of their association and happiness since. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


I T should have been stated in the beginning of 
this little tale that Mrs. Cushman afforded its 
inspiration; that Maxine urged and encouraged 
the writing of it ; that “The Kitten” is its writer, and 
that Norma Alton is her counsellor. So I make the 
statement here. I feel that a statement as to how it is 
that my story has run on and on without order or 
plan, is expected. Run on just like my girlish life, 
with never a thought about order or for to-morrow. 
Run on just as I have run about having a good time. 
Now it has been in Montana, where for a season my 
life was one grand promenade under triumphal 
arches; then in Texas where I once visited in Waxa- 
hachie. The reader may not know of that quaint, 
sleepy, old town, or about its two-hundred-years-be- 
hind-the-age people. A digression for the purpose 
of telling a little about them may be pardonable. 

When we were there, not so very long ago, the shirt 
waist had not arrived there, neither had the rainy day, 
or business woman’s skirt. The next day after our 
arrival, Maxine made herself particularly smart by 
donning such comfortable garments, and with a fetch- 
ing hat and belt, dainty boots and gloves, sallied forth 
on a sight-seeing jaunt. Why, believe me, within 
twenty minutes the whole town was in the streets for 
the purpose of looking at the maiden’s ankles. She 
attracted so much attention that she began to feel 
like a female Pied Piper, and hastily returned to our 
hostess. 


234 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 235 


The Texans are a sociable people, and very fond 
of visiting, especially those in and around Waxa- 
hachie. If a young man visits a home in which are 
young ladies to whom he wishes to pay his respects, 
or maybe attentions, he drives over and stays all 
day. That is the custom there. 

Another one is if a young woman is a desirable per- 
son for a wife, the father of a marriageable young 
man goes to call on her to tell her he will be glad to 
have her in his family, tells her all about his son, 
what he owns, his prospects and all. Maxine had a 
case of the kind. The father who called on her a 
short time after our arrival, was as nice as could be, 
and terribly in earnest. The girl told him she had not 
yet seen his son and didn’t know whether she would 
like him or not, but that in any case she was not 
looking for a husband. The old gentleman was sur- 
prised, almost shocked by her business-like manner. 
He really appeared to be sorry for her state of mind. 
Then he tried to persuade her to listen to his terms. 
Her keenness discovered his tactics, and in cold-blood 
she told him how useless it was for him to try to per- 
suade her, that she knew her mind perfectly, that 
she had not yet seen the man whom she wanted for a 
husband. In sorrow the fine old fellow withdrew, 
pondering on the ways of Western girls. 

In the beginning we planned a simple little story 
about our season in Washington. It was not to be a 
journal that would require order, a kind of slavery 
that none of us could ever endure; not a guide book 
because we are not so much interested in places as in 
men and women and what they do. We did not plan 


^36 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


a story with an atmosphere, a plot, a politician, not 
one about the new comers, neither about the new-rich. 
We did not plan to write about society women who 
may, or may not, lead unnatural, impossible lives here 
in this polite capital; not about teas, receptions and 
such affairs, with their usual dialogue; not a story of 
political intrigue, nor yet historical; not about the 
fast life of some sets in club-world as well as in the 
political ; nor did we plan on the marriage or giving in 
marriage of any member of this dear circle. We 
planned just a little tale of happenings that we might 
read over in time to come, or relate to friends and 
loved ones with the expression of Othello: 

“All of which I saw, and a part of which I was.” 

But we had no system, no plan, no plot. 

It was the appearance of that heaped up letter bas- 
ket as seen on our visits to Mrs. Cushman’s rooms on 
a few of those first mornings, that convinced us that 
if we were to write a little story of our lives while 
here, that we must keep a journal or record. This 
journal we knew would soon present a sorry record, 
it would just be a record of what we had not recorded. 
Tlien we got a pretty basket in which to keep cards, 
notes and invitations. But soon that plan was found 
not to work, for cards, notes, invitations, programs, 
were to be found everywhere, in the bureau drawers, 
on the desks, in the Senator’s den, on the floors, just 
wherever a careless girl might happen to be, and 
that is all over this great, beautiful house, filled with 
everything. In a state bordering on frenzy about 
how and where to jot down things, it occurred to one 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 237 


of us to tie a pencil to a long string and hang it near 
our beds, and with it a big sheet ofpaper, as we might 
forget to renew small sheets, suggesting that what- 
ever it was to “jot it down.” 

A good many things have been jotted down and 
some of them written out here; but more have not 
been. But then a great editor once declared that no 
one ever knows how many good things are left out and 
crowded out of the papers, so we take heart at our 
lack of system. 

We planned for one thing to tell about the 
suitors of our hostess, especially to tell of 
one time when she actually entertained five 
at one time, among them a Senator, a Governor, 
and a Prince, and kept them all gentle to- 
wards each other until a breaking up of the party 
came about naturally and gracefully. We had been 
delighted with Gibson’s “A Widow and Her Friends,” 
a copy of which exquisite book had been sent to our 
Duchess by a devoted cousin. It had suggested to us 
a story about our widow and her telephone, since Mrs. 
Cushman’s dinner hour is almost equal to a night- 
mare, made so by an army of friends who cannot get 
her ear during the afternoon while she is shopping, 
visiting, or on business with and for friends tp the 
departments. Often have the calls been so frequent 
that her dinner has been carried upon a tray and 
placed on the telephone table to insure her against 
hunger and to enable her, with her usual amiability, to 
gratify her friends who wish to talk to her. This is 
simply a suggestion to Gibson that he add to his 
admirable picture story of “A Widow and Her 


238 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


Friends,” a few of his excellent drawings of our 
Duchess and her telephone. 

We also meant to tell about the evening when we 
set all the clocks in the house to striking twelve, the 
cuckoo down in the hall almost swinging his head off 
as one of us stood by to pull the weights so as to keep 
him cuckooing, while several music boxes were going 
in the music room above. Space for the story would 
be taken here but for the wit of the splendid Prince 
whom we all so admire. The various sounds reaching 
his sensitive tympanum, he stood not on the manner of 
going, but went at once. On reaching his club he sent 
back a dainty note by special messenger. This our 
hostess received while standing in the middle of the 
music room, her commanding air somewhat tempered 
by the tears running down her cheeks, her limpid arm 
and hand out to stop some of the instruments as if she 
had about her so many wild animals which she was 
trying to quiet. She took the note and with her re- 
maining strength opened it and read: 

“Good night, 

J. W. S.” 

This she held for us all to see, when there was a 
general roar of laughter, during which the music 
stopped. 

Another time, about four in the afternoon, one of 
the greatest catches in three cities was enjoying a few 
moments’ call. While he and the Duchess were in the 
drawing room, and we feared he had come to renew 
his offer of himself and fine fortune for the third time 
to the woman he declared he had admired for years. 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART ^39 


Marian at an upstairs window and Maxine from the 
balcony, were showering down pennies and dimes to 
the Italian organ man in the street to induce him to 
keep on with his music hall love ditties, and he did. 
The admirer of our Duchess remarked the stay of the 
organ man and his industry, but did not take the 
hint, though he may have lost his nerve, for his call 
that day was shorter than any he ever made, and has 
not been repeated. He died suddenly three weeks 
later of heart disease. 

We meant to tell of the evening on which Maxine 
presented herself to Mrs. Cushman in the drawing 
room, appearing perfectly elegant in Fra Angelo’s 
dress suit, her long braids skilfully concealed under 
the coat, while the writer of this modest tale lingered 
on the stairs to watch the fun, togged out in pink 
pajamas that had been the Senator’s, with a Mexican 
sombrero, and Marian bringing up the rear looking a 
picture in a Chinese lady’s kimono, in which she posed 
all that Delsarte ever heard of or seen and some not 
yet published, in her Mercury, Venus de Medici, and 
some of the others. But this evening’s fun was not 
equal to the one in which we rummaged the great store 
room and came forth splendid in satins, velvets, laces, 
embroidery, jewels, ermine, brocades, with fans and 
all that was elegant and rich in the days when Mrs. 
Cushman’s grandmother wore these magnificent heir- 
looms, so carefully treasured by her granddaughter, 
Malcom Cushman. On this occasion we were joined 
by the chums Billie and Patrick, the first named ap- 
pearing in a splendid scarlet robe which, with his 
smooth, calm face and amiable air made him look 


240 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


every inch the Cardinal, while the other in mantle and 
laces might have entered from the court of Charles X. 

Shall we ever forget those merry evenings, or our 
many and ever new pleasures in this house of sur- 
prises ? 

We meant to try to describe the magnificent recep- 
tion given at the Arlington by the junior Senator 
from Ohio and his wife, an affair of real beauty and 
splendor, and unequalled by any one in Washington 
since the days of that other queenly daughter of Ohio, 
Mrs. Florence Payne Whitney, as we meant to de- 
scribe the beautiful marriage ceremony of the charm- 
ing daughter of the Secretary of State./ On both of 
these occasions our Duchess was one of the most 
charming personages present. At the one she was 
regal in all black, without a jewel, without a flower; 
at the other she was queenly in soft white, not an or- 
nament, not a bit of color, except her glorious crown 
of dark brown hair worn in classic braids. 

We meant to tell about Easter services in Washing- 
ton churches, three of which we attended at the same 
time, the four of us that day having attended six 
services in as many different churches. ^ Our hostess 
took communion at St. Thomas, beautiful, restful, 
charming St. Thomas, with its glorious windows, its 
walls and finishings in the most pleasing and lasting 
style. As she came down the aisle to her pew, her 
trailing robes, her bonnet and veil of sable hue, her 
fine eyes cast downward, she looked an ideal Madonna,/ 
a really impressive figure. At dinner on that holy 
day. Dr. Warren told us about some Easter cus- 
toms observed in a few of the many countries in 



Mrs. Cushman’s Home 

The balcony one morning in the very early spring. 


^ 






THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 241 


which he has traveled. The story which most inter- 
ested us was about that quiet, peasant people at Ober- 
ammergau, people who need never to try to enter into 
the spirit of the day, for they live the life of the 
Saviour and His lowly followers, live those far-away 
times over, seeming always as it does to them, that 
men and women of those ages are personally and con- 
stantly among them. These people go to long, serious 
religious services, with lunch baskets filled. After- 
ward they separate by families or in small parties for 
luncheon, then spend the day in quiet visiting and 
simple companionship, always of course, out of doors. 

A thousand interesting things have happened to 
fill our stay with interest and pleasure, but none has 
equalled the interest in our sweet hostess. She is a 
wonderful woman. What with her beauty, her 
wealth, and power, is it any wonder that she is attrac- 
tive ? But we know that as much of her attractiveness 
comes from her qualities of head and heart as from 
the other qualities combined. Who of us would have 
dreamed that her Prince Charming was to come from 
over the seas.'^ 

True enough, while standing on the balcony one 
morning in the very early spring there drove up to 
our home the handsome stranger of her Rouen-Paris 
visits. It was an easy thing for him to learn who the 
beautiful woman was, and entirely natural that he 
should keep himself informed as to affairs of her 
country. He, of course, learned of her widowhood, 
as did the whole newspaper-reading world. At the 
expiration of a decent lapse of time, he decided on a 
visit to these shores, to this city, and it so happened 


242 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


that he earned letters of introduction not only from 
Prince Romanoff and sister, but from Princess Helene, 
Mrs. Cushman’s beautiful American-French cousin 
married to a prince and living in Paris. 

It is perfectly true that Mrs. Cushman was great- 
ly surprised to see the handsome man, and their eyes 
met as they had once before. She was more sur- 
prised when his carriage stopped at her door. He 
alighted and came up the steps with the air of one 
with a mission. The greetings were cordial. The 
gentleman at once told the sweet woman that he had 
letters to present to her and asked would she receive 
them now. He stated that he had not intended to 
call before asking permission to do so. 

“It has come about,” he said, “that on driving 
out this morning I was drawn in this direction — well, 
and here we are together.” He showed by his happi- 
ness that it was as he said, and our dear Duchess did 
not appear displeased. In the beautiful drawing room 
she received his letters with the grace of a queen as 
she is, a queen among women; shortly after he de- 
parted. 

The coming of this interesting, splendid man from 
the Old World has added no little to our pleasures, 
for he has taken us everywhere. 

And now his visit is ended and he has gone back 
to sunny France, leaving a pretty complication of 
our Duchess’ love affairs. She may not marry the 
Prince, she may not marry Edwin, she may not marry 
a great Senator, and she may never become the first 
lady in our land, but while she lives she will continue 
to reign among the first in all lands. 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 243 


But this is not all. We have stated that we had no 
plot, neither had we. Norma Alton told her story be- 
cause she was persuaded and finally prevailed upon 
to do so; told it in such a manner and at such times 
as to charm us with its interest, delight us in her 
ability of narration. She knew our lack of atmos- 
phere, our lack of plot, for a story, that is from our 
point of view. However, she^told us plainly in the 
beginning that we were in a home the atmosphere of 
which was aromatic with sweet friendship, loyalty, 
consideration, the very atmosphere of love and ro- 
mance. But we did not get the idea that we could 
weave a story around this house, and we never 
dreamed that she could be unravelling one during 
these busy days, 'at the same time giving it to us in 
such allotments, and with such interest and regularity 
as to engage us as has been the case with her story 
of herself for which we begged and pleaded. We 
had need of a plot did we write a story, that we 
knew, and we had none. She said: 

“Why, everything happens here. There is here 
plot upon plot, each one unravelling around this 
sweet home,” and so I wrote on. 

After all there is no history like the heart’s his- 
tory, no story telling like that which pictures the joys 
and sorrows of the men and women whose lives have 
been worth while, men and women who love and 
suffer, and who by the power that comes to them from 
loving and suffering, do things or get things done. 
Such men and women are the salt of the earth. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


O N St. Patrick’s Day, Mrs. Cushman and 
Norma Alton together gave a brilliant and 
beautiful dinner party in honor of the day 
Patrick Miller celebrates, the glory and honor of 
which day he shares with the patron of the most fa- 
mous isle in the world, and that on which our Duchess 
gave her troth to Allerton Cushman. The event was a 
happy and proud one to the young man. They 
were both surrounded by close personal friends, sev- 
eral of whom they dearly love. 

Mrs. Cushman arose and proposed her young 
guest’s health, success, and happiness, and in a few 
sentences told us what the day as an anniversary 
meant to her. She closed by referring to the beauti- 
ful friendship between her friends, Patrick and 
Norma, and as she coupled their splendid names, 
she turned to him as he stood at her right, and 
said: 

“My young friend, thank your fortune’s star 
every day of your life that your destiny was to meet 
and know this strong, brave, sweet woman.” Then 
she raised her glass and bade all drink to the young 
man, with the wish that his years be many and use- 
ful. 

Patrick made appropriate and graceful response, 
thanking each hostess for the honor done him, not 
hesitating to proudly acknowledge his affectionate 
admiration for the one, his love for the other. The 
memory of their goodness and loving kindnesses, he 

244 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 245 


declared, he would cherish forever. Then he asked 
that all drink to his parents. 

On the party breaking up at a late hour, Patrick 
went to Mrs. Alton, and placing his arm about her 
said : 

“Thank you, my dear friend. I can only say 
thank you now. It is not much for this lovely even- 
ing, letters, telegrams, presents, beautiful dinner. 
But it is all I can say. Again I thank you,” and 
he strained her to him in a nervous, quick way, then 
kissed her brow and said good night. Soon the merry 
makers were gone. But the spell of it all, his re- 
ception there in the beautiful rooms, the brilliant 
dinner, the declarations, the sweet reunion of friends 
up in the den, the telegrams and letters, the souvenirs, 
how it was all managed, the whole affair, was with 
him for days, and more and more he admired Norma 
Alton, and more and more was he devoted to her. 

Soon after Patrick’s party, Mrs. Cushman gave 
another elegant dinner for which Mrs. Alton had 
dressed herself in her best. She did not know that 
Patrick had come in and up to the den. About ten 
she came up for a book wanted at the table. There 
he was and with Maxine they were enjoying about 
their first peaceable visit. Patrick and Maxine gen- 
erally disagree furiously. Instantly he was on his 
feet to greet her, during which the girl left the room, 
although asked not to do so, the woman explaining 
that she had come only for a moment to fetch the 
book, which she at once took from a shelf, and started 
back. As she turned Patrick stepped between her 
and the door. He had remarked before on her fine. 


246 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


almost radiant appearance. He took her in his arms 
and kissed her, then placed her in such a way that 
they stood side by side before the long mirror in 
which he was studying their c^ppearance, when she 
looked from his handsome, merry face to the picture 
in the mirror, and instantly caught his meaning. The 
man was visibly confused for a moment by her flash 
of intelligence, but they stood there, his arm still 
about her, her head thrown back against his shoulder, 
both smiling, both thinking — thinking what.? He 
again complimented her upon her beautiful appear- 
ance, telling her how proud it made him feel to see 
her so, that he liked to hav<' her wear red roses in 
her hair, kissed her brow and let her pass out, asking 
that she not hurry back to entertain him. At the 
stairs he said : 

“Maxine will come again, if not, I will studj^ You 
must not hurry away from the company down there. 
Forget that I am here in the den.” 

Happy young man, as if a woman could ever 
forget ! 

Not long after that brilliant dinner party the 
young man was in the den, for he has the run of the 
house with the rest of us, for one of his many even- 
ings there of reading, study and work, in the room 
he has declared he loves beyond any other spot, where 
he takes more comfort and does his best studying, 
when its owner came in. There he sat in the great 
chair with a book in which he was deeply engrossed, 
a big work of reference open on a tabouret at his 
side. He quickly arose to greet her, and they were 
glad to be together. After a few moments he went 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 247 


on with his study. But soon he noticed she still sat 
there, idle, thinking. He could not understand it 
at all. He closed his book and asked: 

“What is it, Norma?” the first time he had ever 
called her name. But before he could rise and go 
to her, she dropped down on the hassock at his feet. 

“What is it?” he repeated. “Tell me what can 
be the matter, Mrs. Alton?” he again asked, taking 
her hands in one of his and with the other drawing 
her closer to him, his book falling to the floor. 

After a little she freed herself and with her arms 
resting on his knees looked up into his face for a 
moment as if to read his soul. 

She had not been crying, she was not nervous, just 
calm and still. Patrick liked to have her sitting 
there so. But he could not understand her. She 
seemed happy, yet sad ; willing to tell him, but hardly 
knowing how. Bye and bye, with her face turned 
partly from him, with one of his gentle hands resting 
lightly on her shoulder as if to express his sympathy, 
to give her courage to speak, she asked : 

“Patrick, my sweet young friend, you who are 
more to me than any one else in the world, you from 
whom I have learned so much, from whom I expect so 
much, you who are almost my second self from my 
liking for you, my trust in you, my pride, my hopes 
— tell me, what would be your feelings were I to tell 
you that we, you and I, are brother and sister !” 

The man turned pale, slowly dropped back in his 
seat, his hand falling from her shoulder to the side of 
the chair, the one in his lap lying listless. The wom- 
an at his knees was prepared for anything. 


US THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


The man before her was face to face with the most 
painful question of his life. He had suffered many 
things, from hunger, fatigue, hardships of war; from 
sickness, accident, loss of means, defeat in some af- 
fairs, loss of the dearest brother in the world, the 
beloved brother who was almost his second self ; but 
never before had he experienced this sensation which 
swept over him like a mighty wave from northern 
regions. He thought only of his father, for his 
mother was very young when he was born. He did 
not think of disgrace, just of some romance in that 
lovable father’s gay young days. Then he thought 
of the sweet woman there before him, of his love and 
admiration for her, and as the warm blood surged 
back again, he began to feel lonely, bereft, as if 
the whole world were whirling by and leaving him 
alone. Finally he almost stammered: 

“My God, girl, no man could love a sister equal 
to my affection for you. What does it all mean? 
Tell me. How have you learned all this? How can 
this be? Tell me, tell me.” 

The woman took his cold hands between her own 
and caressed them, then she arose and stepping to his 
side kissed his white brow again and again as his 
head lay back on the chair. After a moment or two 
he drew her down to the seat she had left at his feet. 
He was weak and did not want to rise, and he took 
comfort from her presence. After a while she began 
as he bade her: 

“You know all about my sad, stormy past, Pat- 
rick. You know of my struggle to get education 
and a place in the world; about Mr. Alton’s death 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART m 

and how that tragedy left me several thousand dol- 
lars in debt, of my six years’ of slavery to pay it all. 
You know the story of my birth ; the scene at moth- 
er’s death bed, her reticence with regard to the secret 
she thought she was carrying to the grave. You 
know of Monsieur Villard in Brussels who would have 
been my lover had I allowed; you know the story of 
the Captain of my girlhood days; you know of my 
love for Wallace Somers. All these things you have 
heard me tell The Kitten for her story, and you 
must know that it was not easy for me to tell these 
things. As to our sweet friendship, yours and mine, 
you are familiar with every day of it, as I believe you 
realize what it has been and what it is to me. 

“But you do not know, dear Patrick, that my 
recent visit to Illinois was to settle the question of 
my parentage. For all these long years I have strug- 
gled with that problem. I have to tell you that all 
that was said between the dying woman in the cabin 
and Mrs. Roslyn, and all that was done, was heard 
and seen by the man who drove Mrs. Roslyn to the 
cabin that cold winter morning. He was a not too 
clever fellow, a waif that Mrs. Chanler had taken 
and raised. One of those dull but faithful creatures. 
He had never been sent from her presence when she 
talked with others. But on the morning of Mrs. 
Roslyn’s visit he was not in the room, and she did not 
notice his presence in the adjoining one. No one 
had ever asked him questions, for no one knew. On 
my recent visit there, I learned, by patient, pains- 
taking inquiry, of the old man who had lived always, 
most people thought, in the cabin home of Mrs. 


^50 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 

Chanler. From his dull round he had aged almost 
equally with his foster mother. No one ever thought 
that he had been young. I found this man, asked 
him questions and thus it was I learned the story of 
my birth, all that took place that morning. Then 
after telling me all he knew, the poor, dull, sad fel- 
low went with me to my mother’s grave, and strange 
to say the lonely — ^but now not unmarked spot — 
is very near Mrs. Roslyn’s, so near in fact are 
they, that it can be said that her babe lies by her 
side. 

“But, Patrick, it was not so easy to find trace of 
my father, to get the information that the torn mar- 
riage certificate should have given, and would have 
but for some unknown accident. 

“After a long time spent in hunting up men who 
had lived in Nauvoo before and during the war, for 
interviews about old settlers, much searching among 
old records, some correspondence with the War De- 
partment here, I finally learned that a Julius Muel- 
ler from Germany had settled there shortly before 
war closed, that he left a young wife who died after 
he had gone away to fight. That on the close of the 
war he returned and lingered there for some months, 
then had gone to the southern part of the State, 
where he had married and was supposed to be living 
there now. But I did not go to him, nor have I writ- 
ten to him. It was learned that the lady he married 
was very young at the time and nearly as beautiful 
as his first wife, and that she was a native of Lan- 
field, while her parents were from Ireland. I also 
learned the name MueUer had long ago been changed 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 251 


to Miller. This information, with that of my fath- 
er’s enlistment, service, discharge and pension, I got 
from the War Office. I wrote it all to Monsieur 
Villard and sent the miniature which was of his 
mother and my mother’s mother, sent him the torn 
paper, too, and the chain. His wife died about a 
year ago, and it was only lately that he decided to 
again visit this country. On receiving my letter in 
which I told him everything to the minutest detail, he 
was overjoyed. Now he has written me about every- 
thing too, and when he comes he will clear all up 
properly, go and see my father too, for on receiving 
the miniature he knew that trace of his sister had 
been found, that he knew and loved her child. Uncle 
Villard will be here next week, Patrick, here in this 
sweet home, dear, as Captain Marshall is already 
here, not in this house, but here in the city. He 
has been here today to see me, to see the woman whom 
he first knew as a little girl away out on the Western 
plains. But he is not known as Captain Marshall 
now, dear. He is Senator Marshall Kearney, lately 
elected, richer than when I knew him. He mourns 
his beautiful wife, whom he lately lost, but finds much 
comfort in his love for his only child, his lovely 
daughter Edith. 

“But why are you so sad, dear boy? Are you not 
glad that I know who and what I am, that I am rich 
and will never have to again work in the business 
world or in the departments, that my mother’s inheri- 
tance will come to me, and that I am my uncle’s 
heir? Are you not glad for me, dear? Speak and 
tell me what you think, how you feel. You have not 


gsa THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


said one word. Your looks almost frighten me. You 
must speak to me, Patrick. Are you not glad for 
me.^ Please tell me.?” 

But she had not asked, “Are you not glad to have 
me for a sister.?” She could not do that, even 
though she shared her heart’s wealth of love with 
two such lovable men. She had endured almost 
everything, but she could not bring herself to ask 
him that question, she could not ask the question. 

Bye and bye Patrick bent over and clasped the 
woman to him, when after a pause, in which he had 
some labor with himself, said: 

“Dear, dear girl ! I am glad for you, Norma ; glad 
as I can be; glad for your good fortune; glad that 
you have had patience, dear. It pays to have pa- 
tience. I, too, have infinite patience.” Then with 
his old imperiousness again upon him, as if speech 
had brought him to himself, he threw back his head, 
and taking the woman’s between his hands, looked 
calmly, with keenest penetration into that almost 
speaking face, into eyes of deepest blue and steadi- 
ness, and in a soft, almost tender, voice, asked: 

“But, Norma, you do not ask if I am glad that you 
are my sister. You cannot ask it. You either know 
that you are not or that your story is not correct — 
or can it be that you are narrating for The Kitten’s 
romance?” he added almost lightly. It was the wom- 
an’s turn to be surprised now, or was she startled, 
shocked? She thought for the space of a moment, 
then answered: 

“Oh, I know my story is true, else Uncle Villard 
would not be coming. I am not romancing now. This 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 253 

is too serious a question with me, Patrick, too serious 
for romancing,” meantime she had broken away from 
him and had made several turns around the room. 

He arose and brought her back into the big window 
where they had had the long talk, and placing her in 
the easy chair from which he had just risen, and 
wherein he had suffered, had been cast down and then 
enjoyed light and reason again, he threw himself on 
the seat at her feet. Again he said : 

“But, Norma, you did not ask if I am glad that 
you are my sister. You do not ask me that question. 
You did not state that you have found that we are 
so related. But you intimated that such might be 
found to be the case. And you seem not anxious to 
claim me for a brother. How is this, my sweet one?” 

Never but once before had there been between them 
the slightest confusion. He had been confused for 
an instant when they stood before the mirror, now she 
was for the moment a little flustrated. She would 
have risen and gone to the window, but he would 
not allow. He had always been so patient and gentle 
with her that she was struck by his determined way, 
yet in a way, prepared for it. 

It was growing very late and both had been for a 
long time under a fearful strain. He arose and she 
stood before him. Slipping one arm about her, he 
whispered : 

“I thought you game, little woman. Tell it me, 
please.” But she would not speak. Then he said 
gently, almost coaxingly: 

“Get a wrap and we will go out for a little while. 
You are nervous. This has been too much for you. 


254 ) THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


I wonder that you have kept it all so long from me. 
How came you to do so, Norma?” 

They passed down the stairs and out, and for 
some moments walked on Sixteenth street toward the 
White House. The woman not yet having spoken, 
Patrick closed his arm more tightly over hers and 
thus tried to encourage her to tell him if she were 
glad that it might prove they were brother and sister. 

She then began to talk and he learned that she 
had suffered keenly from remarks made about their 
friendship, their being so much together. She 
feared, too, that he had been many times embarrassed 
by taunts about the difference in their ages, and for 
that reason she would be glad. She would have her 
revenge upon those who had challenged his taste. 
For those who had teased her, she cared not at all 
for what they thought. But she was nervous. It 
was easy to see that she had schooled herself for her 
evening’s ordeal. The man was sorry for her, but 
could find no words to express his feelings. Finally 
he asked: 

‘‘Had we not better return to the house, Mrs. 
Alton? You are very tired.” They turned back. 
He entere^ with her and for one moment stood there 
in the red light of the great hall, looking into her 
pale face. He took her offered hand, saying: 

“I will not go up again to-night, as it is so late. 
I hope you will be all right to-morrow after a good 
night’s rest,” then he left her. As he reached the 
door he turned to find that she had not moved. It 
flashed through his brain that he was parting from 
her in coldness, at the same time he felt that neither 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 255 


of them meant it. He stepped to her side like one 
springing to the rescue, and led her to the stairs, then 
with one hand on her arm to detain her for the mo- 
ment, he asked: 

“Can you tell me, will you tell me, Mrs. Alton, how 
it was that you identified me as belonging to the man 
you think is your father, what was the link in the 
chain of your evidence that brought me into the net 
that seems to have been weaving about you all these 
years.? How came you to connect me with my father 
of whom you as yet know nothing for a certainty?” 

Norma Alton was all interest at once. 

“Why, Patrick, are you really doubtful? Do you 
question my story? How did I come to identify or 
to connect you? Your question pained me for the 
moment, Patrick; but the pain is gone now. If I 
must tell you all, know that once, a long time ago 
you took from your scarf the crown pin which you 
know I have always so admired, and gave it to me to 
examine, to feast my eyes on. I know of no reason 
why I did not tell you what I read on its back, you 
may know the words as well as I do. But I kept still. 
With my knowledge of Old World jewels, I was 
quick to read my father’s name on your carf pin. 
I did not know then that it was my father’s name. I 
remembered the name, when in the midst of my search 
for my father, I found his became Miller, and, of 
course, can never forget the jewel, for you have 
worn it, Patrick.” 

Then she stepped on the first stair which few inches 
made them almost equal in height, and while she stood 
so he drew her closely to him again, when she quick- 


^56 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


ly threw her arm about him and kissed him on the 
cheek, saying: 

“Good night, dear, sweet friend. I know what 
you feel, what you are thinking. Good night,” and 
she turned and went up the stairs to her den, the 
room he loved so well, and she asked: 

“Is it all over, will he prove true, will he continue 
to love this beautiful room?” 

Patrick Miller passed out into the star-lit night 
and walked toward his home. His first thoughts 
were : 

“If that was romancing it was beautifully done, 
so well done that Norma Alton deserves that I tell her 
my love. If her story is true, I ought to tell her. 
In any case I love the woman and I must tell her so, 
althought I feel she knows it as well as I do. But 
I will tell her even if the whole world blames me. 
What do I need care for what the world says? But 
it will never be proven that we are half brother and 
sister. I know the woman’s love. She certainly is 
proud, but how splendid in her pride! She will tell 
a story to reveal her love, but she will not tell her 
love to clear up a story. I truly believe that she 
would rather have my love and remain in ignorance as 
to her parentage, than be a princess without it. God, 
is there anything equal to a fine woman’s heart? 
Better had I ask, has Norma Alton her equal in this 
world?” and he found himself before his door. Hast- 
ily entering and going to his dresser he took the pin 
from its case and plainly read, “Mueller,” the seven 
letters appearing on the back of the pearl settings, 
as she had stated, each letter beautifully cut, but he 



Patrick Miller 

. . . “and he threw himself into a chair to think hard 

on the subject of this evening.” 





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THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 257 


did not see the J. until he lifted the pin attached to 
the little safety chain, and there clearly that letter 
appeared. 

“She is right as to the name being here,” he said, 
“but my father? Oh, it cannot be I” and he threw 
himself into a chair to think hard on the subject of 
this evening. He could not give her up, he did not 
want her for a sister. It must not be, could not be 
so. He said to himself: 

“Maybe if I had told her, this test never would 
have taken place, for I still believe it a part of her 
story for The Kitten’s little book.” 

The Kitten has written it all out just as it hap- 
pened. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


T he next day was Memorial Day and we had 
planned to visit Arlington, our last visit it 
would be, too. On the morrow of that day 
we were to have an excursion down the river, 
and then our party was to break up. Soon our happy 
five months in this sweet home would be a memory 
only. 

Mrs. Cushman had been invited by Princess Helene 
to spend the summer with her and the Prince in their 
palatial home in Neuilly, once the park of Louis 
Philip, Seine, Paris, for long the home of that at- 
tractive woman, Princess du Leep Singh, and she 
will go accompanied by her devoted friend, Norma 
Alton. They will go by invitation to London for the 
coronation of King Edward VH., and enjoy a season 
of high life there in the heart of our beautiful world, 
then after some weeks with the Princess, will go to a 
quiet and restful place in Switzerland. In whatever 
place they tarry, their circle will be made beautiful 
and interesting by these two women. 

There is a place just out of Geneva, in Switzerland, 
where two rivers meet on a common level. They are 
small streams. One comes from mountain sources, 
and all its long journey from its source is one grand 
action. It tumbles down mountains, rushes through 
valleys, and in its rush takes on the color of labor 
and toil, for when it meets its mate its waters are 
black, and it goes on in nervous haste for a time. The 
other is a valley river and has never known anything 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART g59 


but peace and quiet flowing onward. As they meet 
in the little valley near Geneva, so they flow along 
side by side, one a limpid blue, the other dark and ac- 
tive, and thus they flow on side by side for a long 
time; when their waters become blended there is no 
longer a color line showing that one has been in the 
storm and stress of life’s battle, the other in the sun- 
shine of a peaceful valley. 

I liken the lives, their coming into touch with each 
other, the association of the beautiful Mrs. Cush- 
man, she whose sunny, young life inspired one unam- 
bitious man to achieve greatness that he might lay 
his laurels at her feet, who in her prime has drunk 
of the cup of sorrow to its dregs with the composure 
that only great souls know, and whose future, I am 
sure, cannot be less bright and useful than has been 
her inspiring past; and that of the practical, indus- 
trious, energetic Norma Alton. Hers has been the life 
of the dark and tumbling river, but I feel sure she 
has at last reached the peaceful valley, and that life 
has much in store for her comfort, profit, and pleas- 
ure. We have for long been wishing this fortune 
for her. 

Patrick came and carried Mrs. Alton away early. 
Together they visited the noted places in Arlington; 
the graves of the victims of the Maine, the monu- 
ment lately erected by the Colonial Dames to the 
memory of the men who gave their lives in the Span- 
ish- American War, that of Rear Admiral Sampson, 
of Sheridan, the one to the unknown soldiers in the 
bitter contest of 1861-5, and together they decorated 
our Senator’s grave, at which we all met, each of us 


m THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


carrying our floral tribute to the memory of the 
great friend, soldier, scholar, statesman, and then we 
again separated, they going back over the Long 
Bridge in order to see the ceremony of launching the 
flower boat, Oregon. Before the sounds of the guns 
died away, this small vessel was launched and was 
floating peacefully down the waters of the Potomac, 
toward the sea. The Oregon was the size of a large 
row boat, made in perfect imitation of the famous 
battleship Oregon. It was painted white, with the 
usual red water-line, and had miniature guns and 
funnels showing on its snowy deck, and at its top- 
mast carried a silken flag. Its decks were packed with 
roses, lilies, jasmine, ferns, and many other fragrant 
blossoms. The pilotless mission of the beautiful craft 
was to go forth in memory of those of the army and 
navy who sleep beneath the waters of the rivers and 
the great waves of the world’s oceans. The cere- 
mony was performed on department orders, near the 
Long Bridge, and will be one of the first to be regu- 
larly observed hereafter on each Memorial Day. 
While our young friends stood there witnessing this 
picturesque ceremony of Lincoln Post, No. 3, G. A. 
R., the beautiful craft floating out on its journey, 
the woman was thinking of the burial of Thelma’s 
father, that old Viking custom so beautifully por- 
trayed by Marie Corelli, when Patrick turned and 
asked her : 

‘‘Where do you prefer being buried, Mrs. Alton 
I had never thought about my right to be placed in 
Arlington until you so proudly mentioned it one 
day,” 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 261 


“Why, my first choice has always been Arlington. 
But I have not that right. After that, in the ocean,” 
she answered. Quick as a flash, he said: 

“I have that right, you shall be buried there. But 
why the ocean, Mrs. Alton .f*” and he was not confused 
this time, only terribly in earnest. 

“Oh! I long ago chose the ocean, the cold, great, 
unresponsive cavern that most reminds me of my 
lonely life. I should like to have my body 
placed on a craft like that and allowed to float out 
to sea.” 

“But I have the right to give you your first wish, 
Norma, and I will use it.” 

It was a strange look she caught in his face on 
looking up, but she knew her story to be true, and 
she answered: 

“No, dear one, it will be, I am sure, down there 
where ‘The caverns of the sea lie in blue twilight.’ ” 

Neither of them again spoke for some time as they 
proceeded toward the car that would carry them 
home. He was thinking: 

“She was not romancing. She believes the story.” 
She was recalling to her mind when it was that once 
before she had seen that expression on his face, and 
recalled one of our happy evenings spent in Mrs. 
Cushman’s study, one of those evenings that never 
have had an equal, when Billie, and Bliss, and Pat- 
rick read from the poets and recited, and sang, and 
when we girls brought up tea and sweets and were 
happy, oh, so happy. On that memorable evening 
after one of his recitations, he handed her one of his 
visiting cards on which he had hurriedly copied, in a 


THE SENATOR'S SWEETHEART 


beautiful hand, a verse from a poem by the Marquis 
of Montrose, which read; 

“But if no faithless action stain 
Thy love and constant word;^ 

I’ll make thee famous by my pen. 

And glorious by my sword ; 

I’ll serve thee in such noble ways 
As ne’er was known before; 

I’ll deck and crown thy head with bays, 

And love thee evermore.” 

At dinner that evening Senator Kearney told 
many of his western experiences, of his first meet- 
ing Mrs. Alton when she was a girl, of life among 
the Indians, about his strange change of name. The 
Indians had named him Charlie, and as they would 
never use but two names, he became known as Charles 
Marshall. But when he went away from Midvale 
and settled down to business in a more civilized com- 
munity, he simply used his whole name, and very 
soon his identity was lost to that moving changing 
population there in the valley. Long ago he had 
made all clear to Mrs. Alton, for they were for years 
residents of the same state, and had been friends for 
some time before Mr. Alton’s death. The prominence 
of the two men in the same state made acquaintance, 
if not friendship, almost unavoidable. 

The house is now all astir with packing of trunks 
and putting away for the summer. The two friends 
are planning and doing, and we girls are all aflutter. 
There are some good-byes to be said, a few farewell 
touches, then we shall be scattered like leaves. But 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 263 


our wish has come true, our wish that Norma Alton 
might yet come into her own, for somehow the writer 
of this little tale has been impressed with the feeling 
that her story which she has been unraveling for us 
gay girls, was a real story. We have of late not been 
feeling that it 

“Is all that we see or seem 
But a dream within a dream.” 

And sure enough ! Here is her Uncle Villard from 
Brussels, come to claim his own, and he is not alone. 
Patrick Miller did not report for duty at his desk to- 
day. Late last night he received full information in 
answer to inquiries he has lately been making. He at 
once wrote his father all that Norma had told him, 
connecting them with her life’s history. His father 
came last night, and as Patrick and Monsieur Villard 
had already met and compared notes, the young man 
brought his two seniors at once together. The result 
was to learn that two Julius Muellers were soldiers in 
our war, that they were cousins, that while one en- 
listed from New York and the other from Illinois, 
that they had long been friends and in correspond- 
ence, as some of the family lived at Nauvoo, while 
others continued in the Empire State. On the close 
of the war the married one, Frederika’s husband, 
then lately made a widower, left Nauvoo soon after 
his return, and joined his cousin, Patrick’s father, in 
Lanfield, just after 1:hat man married and settled 
there, for their entire family seemed to have been 
carried away in one manner and another, during that 
tempestuous period in our country’s history. But he 


264 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


did not live many years. Before his death he gave the 
little jewel, the scarf pin worn by Patrick, to the 
boy’s beautiful mother, telling her only that it was of 
great value as a jewel, of thricefold value to him, as 
it was the only earthly link between him and his 
adorable young wife, who had given it him, his beau- 
tiful Frederika Villard, and bade her give it to Pat- 
^ rick when he should arrive at a suitable age. Never, 
of course, could the man have thought that the ex- 
quisite jewel would bring two hopeful souls into their 
own. 

This morning. Monsieur Villard, here in Mrs. 
Cushman’s drawing room, all dismantled as it is for 
the summer, has claimed his own and announced that 
Patrick Miller, too, will have an inheritance, as 
his father will soon be able to claim his share 
from a German estate, of which he is one of the 
heirs. 

While we are saying good-bye to everybody, get- 
ting ourselves and baggage off for train and steamer, 
and all is hustle and hurry, we cannot stop thinking of 
the happenings of these few months, happenings in 
and around this house ; can’t help thinking about the 
ea^e with which Monsieur Villard has cleared up every- 
thing, how happy he is to go back to his beautiful 
Brussels, accompanied by Patrick whom he claims 
already, for the good man knows no bitterness to- 
wards anyone; of the beautiful friendship of the two 
women whose sketches we have given ; of the fact that 
never yet has Norma Alton taken a step upward and 
onward but that movement has helped another or 
others forward and onward, and in the long trial of 


THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART ^65 


her effort to find her own, how much she had endured 
and with what patience. 

Four of this morning’s party will cross old Ocean. 
Patrick going for some years of study in schools, 
and in another life than that in which he has lived. 
In other circumstances he will develop more rapidly, 
even than has been the case during the past threee 
years, for he is a man now, just at that age to begin 
to realize the delights of study, the power of knowl- 
edge. Over there he will have every advantage, great 
love, careful direction, and we expect to hear great 
things of him. 

He is happy, but not too happy to be appreciative 
of the love and friendship of a constant friend. He 
feels certain that when he tells Norma Alton his love 
that her great soul will unselfishly advise him to make 
of himself the man she hopes to see him, her heart’s 
pride, and he knows her advice will prevail though he 
loves the woman truly and has for a long time. 

While we were musing our beautiful Duchess came 
down the stairs and we were all off for New York. 
A few days, then three of us, in the company of 
Mr. Miller will westward, ho! as men have long been 
moving, while four of us turn eastward, as has al- 
ways been the direction when minds craving light and 
soids seeking strength have directed. 

Strange that it should happen that our final re- 
union and final parting should take place at the 
Waldorf-Astoria, there where our Senator’s Sweet- 
heart gave her husband-lover his happiest and last 
surprise. It is of that happy meeting there at the 
piano she is thinking when their escorts come for 


266 THE SENATOR’S SWEETHEART 


them, and they are hurriedly driven to La Savoie, the 
ocean palace that will for a few days be their home. 

Patient, persistent, gay Patrick is glad for another 
dash out into the world, and happy that his future is 
so promising. 

Our three stand aside in a quiet place on the deck 
and near by Mr. Villard. The hearts of all four are 
full. The tall, beautiful woman in black turns to her 
companion by her side, and with her arm about the 
waist of the sweet woman, and a hand resting on the 
arm of the man who loves the one, adores the other, 
with eyes on the splendid harbor scene, takes heart of 
courage and softly recites: 

‘‘What would you weigh ’gainst love 

That’s true.? Tell me with what you’d turn the 
scale ? 

Yea, make the index waver.? Wealth? A feather! 

Rank? Tinsel ’gainst bullion in the balance! 

Kindred ? That, to set ’gainst love ! 

Friendship comes nearest to ’t ; but put it in 

And friendship kicks the beam. Weigh nothing 
’gainst it! 

Weigh love against the world !” 


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